


Far Too Young To Die

by happywhiskers



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Death, Falling In Love, Fluff, Ghost!Castiel, M/M, Slow Build, Teenage destiel, eventual kiss, eventual love, ghost!cas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-27
Updated: 2016-04-09
Packaged: 2018-05-29 10:50:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 36,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6371842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/happywhiskers/pseuds/happywhiskers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's July and Dean has just broken up from school. Being a regular seventeen year old, his plans for the summer largely revolve around his car, work and sex, but after a series of haunting dreams and visits from a very strange, dark haired, blue eyed individual, Dean's life is changed forever by the knowledge that, unless he can avoid it, he is going to die within a week.</p><p>Loosely inspired by the song Far Too Young To Die by Panic! At The Disco</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Monday: 5 days left

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone!  
> This is my first fanfiction, so please don't be too harsh on me, I'm gonna try my best! I know that Supernatural is based in America, but, as a Brit that's never been to America, I've had to semi-base it in England. It doesn't explicitly say where it is based, but some of the terminology and culture may be foreign to some, so apologies in advance.  
> I got the initial idea for this fic after listening to Far Too Young To Die by Panic! At The Disco and from Angel of Mercy by OneRepublic; I'd suggest listening to both of them whilst reading for the full experience (and also because they're great songs) :)  
> Any support will be greatly appreciated and constructive feedback will definitely be taken into account.  
> Thanks for reading! x

Dean Winchester stared moodily out of the bus window, his green eyes following a single raindrop as it hit the glass pane and trickled down it, leaving a watery path in its wake, his elbow resting on the ledge, his palm cupping his chin. His first day of his freedom and the heavens decide that it’s time to open for the first time in weeks – bloody marvellous. The raindrop that he’d been watching joined a small puddle at the bottom of the window and Dean focused his attention on another one that had just made contact with the glass, having nothing better to do.

Classic rock blared through his headphones, probably loudly enough to piss off the person sat next to him, but Dean was zoned out from the music. His mind was flitting from random thought to random thought without much correlation; from his plans over the summer to what kind of pie was his favourite at the moment to cars to boobs and back. In short, he was bored stiff. It had been a hard year at school – despite not really giving a crap about his education, there had been a lot of pressure for him with exams and all that – and he just wanted to go out with his friends or enjoy some summer sun. Unfortunately, everyone seemed to have booked some sort of family holiday, so he’d basically had to accept that this was going to be a lonely few weeks, which sucked, big time. Also, there was no sun to be seen at the moment, which added nicely to the boy’s feelings of utter crappiness.

Dean pulled his phone out his pocket briefly to skip past Bon Jovi’s ‘It’s my life’ and a small smile tugged at his lips as he heard the opening of one of his favourites: ‘Ramble on’ by Led Zeppelin. He supposed it wasn’t all bad – he could work on his car (he’d been meaning to fix her up a bit for weeks now), work some extra hours at Bobby’s and get a bit more cash, and spend some time with his younger brother, Sam. He hadn’t seen the kid much lately, since they’d both been studying for exams and working and all that, and he missed just spending some time with him. He could take him out for a spin in Baby, or maybe show him how to work on her. Not that he’d let him do it regularly, just so that he could learn how to fix cars. It’s a very important skill.

Green eyes flicked back to the window, now focusing on the scenery behind the frequent raindrops, recognising the streets to about a minute’s drive from his bus stop. Good. He’d hopped on a bus early that morning, eager to get out and do something, and gone into town. However, he’d soon realised that he had no money, nothing to buy anyway and no friends to meet up with. After slouching around for a few hours in the pouring rain, he’d gotten bored and caught a bus back. It was a shitty day, and wandering around town getting wet certainly wasn’t going to make it any better. Dean was very much looking forwards to getting home, having a shower and going back to bed. He didn’t even know why he’d taken a bus when he had a beautiful car sitting at home, but he didn’t really care anymore. A nap was going to make him feel approximately two hundred times better, he was sure of it.

Reaching across the woman sat next to him wordlessly, earning himself a look and sniff of contempt, which he ignored, Dean pressed the stop button on the yellow pole in the aisle. As soon as the bus pulled into the bus stop, Dean shuffled past the woman, muttering a small apology as he did so, and exited the vehicle as quickly as he could. The moment he stepped out of the doors and off the small, metal step, the rain hit him, accompanied by a cold blast of air. It was raining even more heavily now, falling in torrential sheets, hitting him uncomfortably hard and soaking him within seconds, making the idea of a shower seem even nicer. Cursing the fucked up July weather, Dean turned up the collar of his worn, leather jacket and began to stride along the street towards home, his head bowed against the wind, watching his heavy, leather boots as they splashed through the puddles on the pavement. It truly was a shitty day.

The bus stop was only a five minute walk from his house, thankfully, and Dean made it back quickly, but not quick enough to avoid being soaked and chilled to the bone. Letting himself in through the unlocked back door, Dean quickly kicked off his boots and peeled off his sodden jacket, throwing it carelessly over the back of a chair as he walked through the kitchen. He called a quick greeting to Sam, who returned it from the living room, before running up the stairs to the bathroom. He didn’t bother checking if his dad was in – he knew he wouldn’t be. He was always either working or ‘working’. Dean didn’t care – as long as he brought enough money home for him and Sammy to eat and for Sammy to buy whatever he needed, they were fine without him.

Stripping off his wet clothes, Dean practically ran into the shower and turned it on full heat, letting out a sigh when the scalding water hit his numb body. With his head under the stream of water, Dean looked down at the white tile under his feet, humming quietly under his breath. For the first time in a while, he allowed himself to think of John, of what he was doing all the time that he was away, and what it would be like to have a proper family. He didn’t know what his dad did for a living – he barely spoke to the man these days – but he was fairly sure that it didn’t take up all of the time that he was away. Whatever it was, it paid well, they could afford to live in a modest, yet comfortable house and buy most things that they wanted, so Dean wasn’t really complaining. He just wished that he could have a family. Sammy was great, but he wanted a dad, a mum. Someone to congratulate him when he did well at work and got extra pay or someone to hug him and kiss his hair when he was feeling down or even just someone to cook some decent food for him and Sammy. Someone who'd spend holidays with them and buy them birthday presents and take them out on day trips to the zoo or a theme park or whatever families did. A real parent. He knew it wasn't possible, but he longed for it all the same. What would his life be like if there hadn’t been that fire when he was four? Probably a lot less crap than this.

After washing himself thoroughly and spending long enough under the spray to turn his skin an unattractive shade of bright pink, Dean shut off the water and stepped out of the shower, grabbing two towels from the shelf on the wall. One was promptly tied around his waist, and the other went around his shoulders, being used to roughly dry his hair. The boy padded over to the sink, watching himself in the mirror as he continued to rub vigorously at his dripping hair. Green eyes stared back at him from under furrowed dark eyebrows. His hair stuck up in all manners of directions and his skin was still pink from the shower at the moment, but Dean knew that he was attractive. He wasn’t being big headed (well, not very), it was just the truth. Which posed the question that had his eyebrows furrowing: why was no one interested? He’d 'dated' a couple of girls recently, but none for longer than a week or two. They'd gone out a few times, ended up in his bed once or twice, then one of them had called it quits. Every time. Did Dean want to settle down with someone and date for a long time? He didn’t really know, to be honest. It would just be nice to have some healthy interest for him, but that didn’t appear to be happening. Besides, all the best looking girls seemed to be taken, which sucked. What was he doing wrong?

Dean scowled at his reflection, mentally telling himself to stop being so shallow. There were plenty of girls to choose from, he had loads of time. Besides, until he found ‘the one’ or whatever (not that he was even sure that 'the one' existed, or that he even wanted to find 'the one'), he could swing by a few parties, pick up the hottest chick he could find for the night and have some fun. Hey, you’re only seventeen once.

Discarding his hair towel on the floor, Dean strolled out of the bathroom, whistling quietly to himself. He could still hear the faint sounds of the TV downstairs, meaning that Sammy hadn’t gone out whilst he’d been in the shower, which Dean could definitely understand. It was raining even harder now, the droplets lashing against his windows loudly and the wind howling, the sound echoing throughout the house. It was strange – the weather hadn’t been forecast to rain at all. Not that it mattered: the rain was here now, and it was going to stay. A weather forecast was never going to stop it.

Pushing open the door to his room, Dean chucked the second towel somewhere in the corner and retrieved a pair of pale grey sweatpants from the floor, pulling them on quickly before collapsing into bed. He let out an appreciative groan and closed his eyes – why had he even gotten out of bed in the first place? Within five minutes, the boy was asleep.

* * *

Dean was very annoyed to find that the weather had followed him to his dream. He was standing by the side of a road, cars rushing past him, splashing through large puddles, close enough to send droplets of dirty water up onto his chest. His vision was obscured by the rain lashing down on all sides of him, but he was fairly sure that he didn’t recognise the area. He also didn’t know how he knew it was dream, but he was more concerned by the fact that he could feel himself getting wetter and wetter and he was now freezing cold, considering that he was just wearing the sweatpants that he’d fallen asleep in. 

Wrapping his arms around his bare chest, Dean looked around, his teeth chattering. God, he’d fallen asleep to escape the bloody rain and cold. Unsure of where the dream was going, Dean tentatively looked behind him. A row of shops, nothing beyond the usual. People walking behind him, caught up in their own worlds, chattering to their companions or grumbling to themselves about the weather. Dean frowned – this was strange. His dreams were usually the nonsense ones where you end up giving birth to a cat whilst on a boat to the moon with strippers performing that actually turn out to be geckos trying to support their families - nothing ever as vivid or as, well, normal as this. It was freaking him out.

Looking back straight ahead of him, Dean watched a double-decker bus as it passed, not one unlike the one that he’d ridden home from town on today. He was about to move his gaze away again when something caught his eye. Or should he say, someone.

It was a boy, probably about his own age, standing on the other side of the road, mirroring his position. He had very dark brown, mussed up hair, like he’d been sleeping on it and hadn’t bothered to comb it in a while, the darkness of it contrasting with his pale skin. He wore a white, long sleeved top and blue jeans. The first thing strange that Dean noticed was that he didn’t seem to be wet at all, like the rain was diverting itself around him whilst he himself was being thoroughly drenched. The second strange thing that he noticed was that the boy was staring straight at him.

Then a truck passed, blocking Dean’s line of sight. When it had gone, it appeared to have taken the boy with it, for the space that he had occupied was now empty.  
Before he could sink into further confusion, the road, cars, people and shops all faded to black. Then the floor fell from beneath Dean’s feet and he was falling. His stomach dropped and he began to panic. He opened his mouth to scream-

And he woke up.


	2. Tuesday: 4 days left

Dean was covered in a cold sweat when he woke, his eyes flying open, his breathing short, unsure of where he was and what had happened. He sat up, stretching slightly, his heart beating quickly in his chest, the panic fading as he realised that he was in his own bed. What had caused such panic; what had he dreamt? He remembered falling and the rain… Then the full details of the dream came back to him. The road, the cold, the vividness of it all; the strange boy. Dean fell back down on the bed, his head hitting the pillow with a thump, his eyes trained on the ceiling light – God, what a strange dream.

The boy stayed like that for a little while before deciding that he needed to get up. He rolled onto his side and picked up his alarm clock, squinting at the digital display. Dear God, it was 5:00am: he’d been asleep for about 13 hours. What the hell? He could swear that he hadn't slept that long in years; he hadn’t even been bloody tired!

Feeling mildly confused, but not really thinking too much of it, Dean swung his long legs off the bed, yawned loudly, and stood. His main concern at the moment was the fact that he’d missed dinner – his stomach was growling like an angry bear. Cursing Sammy under his breath for not waking him, Dean located some underwear, socks, a plain black t-shirt and some blue jeans from various locations around his room. After changing out of his sweatpants and into the other clothes, Dean padded quietly out of his room and down the stairs. Judging by the loud snores coming from Sam’s room, the kid was dead to the world. He didn’t know if his dad was in or not.

Downstairs, Dean rooted through the fridge until he found half of an old cherry pie that he’d been saving, grinning to himself as he pulled it out. He put the pastry in the microwave and then set about finding himself some more food. He didn’t know what Sam had made himself last night, but there didn’t seem to be any leftovers, unfortunately. For a thirteen year old, Dean’s baby brother wasn’t an all bad cook. Dean suspected that his girlfriend, Jess, was teaching him, since she was pretty good herself. Dean should know, she was always bringing round homemade apple pies for him. Another reason why Dean should set about finding himself a girlfriend – they made pie.

Giving up on finding more food, Dean pulled the now-warm pie out of the microwave when the timer went off and made himself a strong, black coffee – he still felt bleary from his strange-ass dream. As he was tucking into his breakfast, leaning against one of the kitchen counters, Sammy came crashing down the stairs, rubbing his eyes as he stumbled into the kitchen.

“Dude, it’s like five in the morning, could you be any louder?” the kid grumbled, making a slightly drunken beeline for the cereal cupboard.

“If you’d have woken me for dinner I wouldn’t have felt the need to get up so early,” Dean replied distractedly, his attention on his food as he stuck his fork into the crust, twisting it to cut the pie into a more manageable piece.

Sam shrugged, opening a cupboard and sticking his head inside. “Whatever, you look cute when you sleep, with the drool and all. It warmed my heart.”

“Oi,” Dean retorted, his mouth full of pie, looking up and half-heartedly kicking at Sam’s legs as his brother pulled out the box he was looking for, along with a bowl.

Sam grinned cheekily at him over his shoulder before pouring some of the cereal into the bowl. He opted for eating it dry and without a spoon, scooping up mouthfuls with his hands, and the brothers ate in comfortable silence for a few moments.

“What are you doing today?” Dean asked after a while, taking a large gulp of coffee, enjoying the strong bitterness of it.

Sam shrugged. “Meeting Jess in town. You?”

Dean took another mouthful of coffee, looking into the dark liquid in the mug. He should’ve known that he’d have something planned with Jess, he always did. Dean didn’t have as much in common with Sammy as he could have hoped, meaning that they didn’t spend nearly as much time together as he’d like. He guessed that meant another day of lonely wandering for himself – he wasn’t due to go in to work for another week or so, Bobby, his boss, had insisted that he needed a proper break to wind down after school. He could always call in and offer to do some extra hours, but Bobby had quite a few people working for him at the moment. He probably wouldn’t need him. Besides, he was still tired as shit.

“Wanna ride?” he asked after a moment, raising his eyebrows over the mug. His baby could do with a bit of tinkering, but that was just because he liked to do it, not because she wasn’t completely road safe. She was still a beautiful ride without him messing with her for hours. Dean glanced out the window to see that it was raining again, but a lot less heavily than the day before, more like a light summer shower. The wind also appeared to have died down, making going out seem a lot more appealing than it had been previously.  


Sam’s gaze lit up as he nodded, which made Dean feel warm in his chest. He knew Sam liked going places with him in Baby – he probably thought the badass car made him seem cooler than he was in front of his friends. Dean liked to think that he also liked spending time with him, but he didn’t know which was more important to his brother. He brushed it off though, it didn’t matter much. He was just happy to see at least some of his family.

“Great!” Sammy smiled, stuffing the last mouthful of cereal into his mouth, crunching on it loudly. “Can we pick up Jess on the way?”

Dean put his now empty mug and plate on the side and reached over to ruffle Sam’s hair, chuckling lightly when he ducked away, yelping. “Sure thing, kiddo.”

* * *

About five hours later, Dean found himself sitting in the driving seat of his beloved car, Metallica coming quietly through his speakers, navigating through town to find a car park and half-listening to Jess’ excited chatter as she and Sam discussed what they were going to do all day. It was a very one-sided discussion.

“Ooh, there’s a really nice café that just opened down Main Street as well! Well, I don’t know if it’s nice, but Bela went with her boyfriend and she swears that the coffee is the best that she’s ever tasted. And I also need to buy some more jeans. I told you that already, didn’t I? Never mind, it’s important. I don’t know whether to get white ones again though, because I always ended up getting them dirty and they’re a bugger to clean and…”

Dean caught Sammy’s eye in the rear view mirror and grinned at the look on his face. Sam was totally smitten by Jess, they’d been going out for about a month now, but they could both agree that she did tend to go on and on about girly stuff when she was excited. Nevertheless, Dean loved the girl and already treated her like the sister that he’d never had (nor wanted, but she was great all the same). He also loved the way that she made Sam feel: little Sammy, who’d pretty much lost both his parents at the age of eighteen months, finally feeling a bit of love from someone who wasn’t his over-protective, authorative big brother. He deserved it.

Before too long, Dean pulled smoothly into a parking spot on the main town car park. It was still raining outside, but not very hard and definitely not enough to deter them from going out. The boy twisted back in his seat to look at the others, a small smile on his face. “Alright kids, here’s your stop. Do you want picking up later?”

“Nah thanks, we’ll catch a bus back when we’re done,” Sammy replied, moving over and opening his car door, swinging his long legs out of the car.

“Thanks for the lift, Dean,” Jess smiled, sweetly, mirroring Sam and starting to climb out herself.

“See you two later!” Dean yelled after them as they both closed their doors, raising a hand to wave to them when they looked back at him through the back window of the Impala. Once they’d disappeared from sight, Dean puffed out a sigh and turned back around to sit properly in his seat, the easy smile melting off his face. What was he going to do now? Moping around town didn’t particularly have much appeal, especially since he might run into the lovebirds, which would be awkward. Deciding that he may as well go and buy something since he’d made the trip out, Dean slowly exited his car, pulling up his jacket hood to shield his hair and face from the rain, and headed off in the direction of the shops.

He ended up buying himself a bottle of coke and a mars bar from the closest newsagent and wandered back to his car slowly, not minding getting a bit damp, chewing on the chocolate bar and taking sips of his drink. He’d flirted with the idea of going to the cinema to see what was on, but had decided that he wasn’t really in the mood for a film. He’d probably go home and work on Baby or watch some crappy daytime TV for a bit.

The teenager made his way back to the car park, spotting his Impala easily amongst the other cars when he rounded the corner, bringing a smile to his face. Damn, a shine like that could be spotted a mile off. He'd spent so long perfecting her, and it had definitely paid off. She looked to be in perfect condition, and the curve of her frame? It was almost enough to make him hard.

He was so caught up in how nice his car looked compared to all the cheap-ass shite around her that he almost missed him, but he looked up just at the right moment. His jaw stopped mid-chew, despite his mouth still being full with chewy caramel chocolate and and nougat from the mars bar. His feet seemed to be stuck to the ground.

It was him.

He looked exactly the same as he had in the dream: bed-headed dark hair, white top and blue jeans, pale skin. Again, the rain couldn’t seem to hit him, as he was completely dry when Dean was covered in small droplets. He was standing by a large, black Range Rover, watching Dean carefully, meeting his gaze. It was him, but how? How could someone be so vividly in his dream, despite Dean never being able to recall meeting him before? Dean was frozen in shock; he wanted to call out to him, ask him who the hell he was and why he was messing with his head, but he couldn’t. All he could do was blink stupidly at him, not daring to break eye contact.

A sudden itch in the corner his eye caused Dean to look away as he scratched it on instinct with the back of his hand holding his coke bottle. It could only have been for the briefest of moments that the eye contact was broken, but when he looked back, Dean realised, with an uncomfortable jolt in his stomach, that the boy was gone, like he’d vanished into thin air. There was no evidence that he’d ever been there in the first place.

It was about minute after the boy had disappeared when Dean slowly regained control of his muscles and began to chew his food again, but he didn’t move from his spot. The boy hadn't reappeared, nor walked off or anything. He'd simply... vanished. Shivers ran down Dean's spine and his movements were shaky as he ran over what had happened in his head. A strange boy that he’d seen in his dream appears, then vanishes? What the hell was going on?

After several moments, Dean slowly began to walk to his car, not taking his eyes off the spot where the boy had been. He hadn’t made it up, he knew it. It being made up seemed to be the only sensible possibility, but he couldn’t bring himself to believe it. He knew, he just knew, that that boy had been there. But he didn’t want to go over and investigate, he just wanted to get into his car and go home. So he did, with the image of the strange boy haunting him the whole way back.


	3. Tuesday: 4 days left

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is quite a short one (sorry!) but the next one's quite a bit longer, so I hope that makes up for it!  
> Thanks for reading x

Dean spent most of what was left of the day sat in front of the TV, finding that he couldn’t concentrate in the slightest. He couldn’t bring himself to work on Baby, his mind was off on other things and he didn’t want to damage her by mistake if his concentration slipped too much. All he could think about was that damned boy. What the hell was happening to him?

Sam and Jess came back at about three, calling a quick greeting to him and telling him that Sam was staying the night at Jess’, he was just grabbing his stuff, before disappearing off to Sam’s room. His dad had even come in briefly when Dean was eating his lunch of a lone sausage roll and some cheese. The two exchanged a gruff hello, John stomped up to his room to retrieve something and then he was gone in a squeal of wheels. That was it. Dean hadn’t seen his dad since the start of the week, and that was all he got. God, he hated the man.

At about ten, Dean flipped off the TV and stood, stretching with a yawn. He didn’t usually spend so long just mindlessly staring at the TV, he usually had to get up and walk around or do something, but he hadn’t been able to bring himself to do anything. It felt like he’d wasted his day, but as he remembered the boy, shivers ran down his spine. Would anyone else be able to concentrate if they were being haunted by a disappearing boy?

Dean padded into the kitchen, grabbed some snacks and made his way upstairs, the creak of the stairs filling the empty house. He’d never admit it, but he didn’t like being alone in the house, which sucked because he often was. Dean threw his snacks down on the bed, changed into a clean pair of boxers and pulled a car manual out from under his bed, knowing that he wouldn’t be able to concentrate on it. Well, it was better than trying to sleep, which he knew that he’d have even less success with. The idea of sleeping and seeing the boy again was not something that could bring himself to face. It was definitely too much to hope that the guy would just leave him the hell alone. Dean opened a packet of double chocolate chip cookies and settled his head against the headboard, eyes flicking across the pages of the manual as he scanned them, desperately trying to take his mind off the boy. Of course, he failed. Every few sentences, the image of the boy standing in the car park would pop into his head, leaving him with chills creeping across his skin.

Around two o’clock, against his will, Dean eventually nodded off, his head falling back against the wall behind his head and manual falling from his tired hands. And, of course, he dreamed.

* * *

Dean’s eyes opened and he found himself in a meadow full of lush, green grass. Again, he was struck with the sudden certainty that he was dreaming that he couldn’t explain, and, again, the dream was as vivid as if it were reality. The sky was a beautiful, eggshell blue with the sun peeking out shyly from behind a few fluffy, white clouds, warming him gently. The grass came up to his ankles and brushed against his bare skin, tickling him pleasantly. There was a light, warm wind, bringing with it the scent of wild flowers and a hint of light rain that scattered across his bare skin. Dammit, did it ever stop raining anywhere? He was in the boxers that he fell asleep in, but he wasn’t cold. It felt more like July here than it did in reality.

He spun in a small circle, taking in his surroundings more completely. The field seemed to stretch forever in all directions, not with a single tree or other form of way marker in sight, and he was completely alone. This was creepy, but not in a way that would fill the boy with terror. He knew that he was dreaming, and it was nice here, so he’d just wait until he woke up again and everything would be fine.

Feeling pleased that he had some sort of control over the situation, Dean took in a deep breath through his nose, inhaling the flowery scent, and exhaled slowly. He was just about to sit down in the grass, maybe pull up a few stems to amuse himself, maybe close his eyes and just enjoy the sunlight when he heard it. He was about to actually start to enjoy and make the most of the dream when he heard the voice, low, loud and clear, like it was coming from someone just behind him.

“Dean Winchester.”

Dean’s whole body went rigid from fear, his breath caught in his throat. There was no one here, he’d checked. Even if someone had been approaching, he’d have seen them on the horizon, heard them make their way through the grass.

“Dean Winchester.”

The boy spun around, his eyes wide from fear, his breaths short, quick and shaky. There was no one there. The voice was deep and gravelly and low, but with a hint of youth to it; it was the voice of someone in their late teens, a boy.

“Dean.”

“What do you want from me?!” Dean cried out, angry at how terrified his voice sounded. He spun quickly on the spot, his eyes darting around him. There was no one there. What the hell was this? Why couldn’t he just be left alone?!

Then he was spinning faster and faster, but it wasn’t him. It was like he was on a roundabout: he couldn’t stop, he couldn’t breathe. The meadow blurred, the blue of the sky and the green of the grass merging together. Then new colours entered the mix, and Dean knew that it was because there was a person standing next to him. Dark browns, pale colours, whites, blues: it was the boy again, he knew it. He opened his mouth to tell him to leave him alone, but he couldn’t breathe, never mind shout at his attacker. Then it was all black.

* * *

For the second night in a row, Dean awoke with a racing heart, laboured breaths and a feeling of panic rooted deep in his chest. He remembered this dream instantly though, and groaned, refusing to open his eyes. What was wrong with him? Why did he keep having these strange dreams, and what was it with the kid that keeps showing up? He knew it had been him, probably his voice as well, calling his name. Why was this happening to him?

Rubbing his hands over his face, Dean reluctantly opened his eyes, lowering his hands and gazing blearily around his room. It didn’t register at first that there was someone standing in his doorway, watching him, their mouth set in a straight line. Then he realised. And he knew immediately who it was.

“WHAT THE FUCK?!” Dean leapt backwards on his bed, coming very close to falling off it, the drowsiness leaving him immediately as he began to panic again. How was this even possible?

“Hello Dean,” the boy that had haunted him through day and the night said, calmly, completely ignoring his state of terror.

In a state of complete panic, Dean grabbed the most dangerous thing that he could find, which happened to be a fairly blunt, small pencil, and tumbled off his bed, scrambling to his feet as quickly as he could and holding the ‘weapon’ aloft, his knees bent slightly, ready to attack. Was he still dreaming? It didn’t feel like it, he’d known when he’d been dreaming. This was reality.

“Wh-What do you want from me?” he asked slowly, disgusted by how shaky his voice was, but he hadn’t been able to help it. He subconsciously tightened his grip on the pencil; he was terrified, he genuinely was. How could someone show up in your dreams, then disappear before your eyes, then just turn up in your bedroom? He’d locked all the doors of the house the night before, he was sure of it, and no one else was in the house to have let him in. This was beyond insane.

The boy watched him steadily, disregarding Dean’s aggressive pose, neither of them breaking eye contact. Dean noticed that his eyes a very bright shade of blue and seemed to reflect a thousand thoughts, something that he’d missed previously, but didn’t help him out in the slightest.

After several long moments of intense eye contact, the boy spoke using the same deep voice that Dean had heard in his dream. He spoke the sentence like it were the most simple thing in the world, when, in reality, it changed Dean's world forever. “I’m here to save your life.”


	4. Wednesday: 3 days left

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay, we actually got to meet Cas properly now! Remember to leave a kudos or comment if you're actually enjoying this fic because there's no point in me posting if no one's enjoying it and I don't know if y'all are or not  
> Enjoy reading! x

_"I'm here to save your life."_

Dean blinked slowly, still holding the pencil aloft in case the boy did anything that would provoke attack. His mind worked over the words, trying to make sense of them, repeating them over and over. The boy continued to watch him quietly.

“What are you?” Dean blurted out suddenly after several moments of silence, curiosity finally taking over him. He’d find out what this boy was first, then he’d decide whether or not to trust him and let him save his life or whatever the hell he wanted with him. He couldn’t be a human, humans can’t appear in peoples’ dreams and stuff and then randomly show up at their houses. Also, the kid seemed to know his name, and Dean definitely couldn’t recall telling him that. Dean had never before believed in the supernatural or monsters that lived under his bed, but, with some proof, he was ready to believe anything. He just wanted an explanation to prove that he wasn’t going insane. Anything.

The boy frowned at him, as if disappointed by his choice of question, making Dean feel like a student in class that would be sent to sit in the corner with a Dunce cap on his head. “My name is Castiel Novak,” Castiel said, slowly, as if he were choosing his words carefully. “I… I am a, an imprint of my former life on Earth.”

Dean lowered his pencil slowly, moving from his defensive stance to stand more casually, his curiosity and surprise making him forget that Castiel was a potential threat. “You’re a ghost?”

Castiel shrugged, nodding his head slightly. “Yes, I am a ghost.”

Dean bit his lip, staring at the boy through worried eyes. “Ghosts are real?”

“What do you think?”

This pulled Dean up short and he didn’t reply for serval moments, his mouth slightly open as he mind worked to find the words to say. If he wasn’t a ghost, just an average guy, then how did he do the dream thing, and the disappearing trick? But to accept that ghosts are real? That was a huge thing for him to do.

“Can you prove it?” Dean asked, tilting his chin upwards slightly, wanting to have the upper hand as he could feel the situation quickly slipping out of his control.

Castiel’s facial features formed an expression of defiance, then Dean blinked and he was gone. Dean started, dropping his pencil in surprise, but he didn’t bother to pick it up. He clambered over his double bed and ran to the doorway, covering the ground in one long stride. Glancing both ways along the short corridor, he realised that Castiel had truly made himself disappear. He truly wasn’t human. Dean was really dealing with a fucking ghost.

“Castiel?” he called, tentatively, unsure of how to respond. Okay, he’d made his point, but was he going to come back? Dean wanted him back to explain all this crap.

“Dean.” Dean spun around to see Castiel sitting on the edge of his bed, watching him placidly, like he’d been sitting there for some time.

Dean took in a deep breath, closed his eyes and let the breath out through his nose. When he opened his eyes, Castiel was still there.

“Okay, you’re a ghost.” Dean began to pace in front of Castiel, running a hand through his spiky, dirty blonde hair, his mind whirling. The ghost’s blue eyes followed his every move. Everything about him just radiated calm, which wound up Dean even more, as it seemed that everything he knew about life was tumbling down all around him. Why did ghosts have to exist?! His voice lowered and he was now muttering to himself. “Cool. A ghost. I can deal with that. It’s just a ghost. It’s fine that they exist, he’s not done anything wrong. Awesome, a ghost. I can handle a ghost. It’s fine. I’m fine.” He stopped and turned to look at Castiel again, his green gaze almost accusatory, his voice lifting again to address him. “What did you mean when you said that you were here to save my life?”

The ghost hesitated for a moment. “Would you like to sit down? I bring great and terrible news, it may be hard for you to handle. You may be more comfortable if you were to-“

Dean cut him off, his teeth gritted. Castiel beating around the bush was making him even more nervous and stressed. “Just tell me.”

Castiel’s blue gaze hardened, as did his voice. “Fine. Dean Winchester, you are going to die on Saturday, in four days’ time, at precisely eleven o’clock in the morning. You will be in the shopping centre that you like to visit every other weekend to buy your rock albums, about twenty minutes’ drive from here, on the first floor, outside the shop that you buy your coffee from before you go to the album shop, three shops along from it on the left hand side of the escalator. A mentally-deranged man with a gun will open fire. You will take a bullet to the back of the head and die almost instantly.”

Dean didn’t respond for a moment as he processed the information, bouncing it round inside his skull. When the full weight of the words hit him, he felt his muscles go slack and he slumped to the ground, landing heavily on his ass, his gaze never leaving Castiel’s. If he felt any remorse for breaking the news so cruelly and bluntly, the ghost didn’t show it, for he held Dean’s gaze with the same hardened look. After a moment, Dean’s eyes flitted down to the floor and stayed there. He was going to die. He was going to die, and he knew exactly when and how. He was going to be shot. He was going to die almost instantly.

He didn’t want to believe. No, it wasn’t true, he was being bullshitted. This was all some sort of sick joke and he’d wake up and he wouldn’t know who Castiel was, ghosts wouldn’t exist and he’d live happily ever after. This wasn’t happening. It couldn’t be.

Yet, he knew, he just knew, that it was happening. This wasn’t a joke, this was reality. He was going to die and he’d just been told by a ghost. How did he know that? He didn’t know how he knew. Maybe it was the details that Castiel gave. He did go to that shopping centre every other weekend and treat himself to a new CD, but not until after he’d got his coffee. The locations that he’d given were right as well. How long had Castiel been spying on him? How long had he known Dean’s fate? There were so many questions that he wanted to ask, and he feared he may forget them all before he got the chance to voice them.

He looked back up at Castiel. The ghost had been watching him, and continued to when Dean met his gaze. Despite all the questions that he had, the only thing that Dean could do was state the obvious in a small, lost voice. “I’m going to die.”

Castiel shook his head, slowly. “No, I’m here to stop it. That’s why I have been entering your dreams and watching you – I have been sent to prevent your death.”

Dean’s brow furrowed in confusion. Oh, so now he wasn’t going to die?! Why couldn’t this guy make up his bloody mind? Why tell him that he was going to die, then tell him that he’d changed his mind? Why give him all the details? None of this made any sense! “Why didn’t you tell me that before?!”

It was Castiel’s turn to be confused. “I did, I told you that I was here to save your life.” When all Dean responded with was a roll of his eyes, Castiel spoke again, in an indignant voice. “I thought you would be pleased, Dean. Now you know what could happen, you can stop it. I have helped you.”

Dean let out a heavy sigh, groaning and covering his face with his hands. “For God’s sake, dude, what am I supposed to say?! I’ve been haunted by you for days, then I find that ghosts are real, then you’re telling me that I’m going to die, but, wait, now I’m not going to die! I don’t know why you’re here, who sent you, why you’re telling me this, what you are, what’s going on and why I’m in this bloody mess!” The words were spoken quickly as Dean rambled, his confusion turning to anger as he desperately tried to make sense of what his life had become. His hands balled into fists, and he slammed them against the carpeted floor beneath him in frustration, his eyes meeting Castiel's furiously. “Why would someone send you? If I’m supposed to die, shouldn’t I just die? And who was it that sent you? Why haven’t you come and told me this before? You’ve obviously been spying on me for a while if you know all that coffee shop and shopping centre stuff about me, so why tell me now? I just, I…” Dean’s voice trailed off and he looked at the ground again, hoping to find comfort in the familiar pale carpet. He found none, just a growing sense of hopelessness, taking over from his anger and making him feel empty. “I just don’t know what’s happening to me,” he finished, quietly, his voice shaky, talking more to himself and the floor than his companion.

The two sat in silence for a while as Castiel formulated his response. When he spoke again, Dean could feel the sympathy and sadness radiating off him, even without looking at him. It made Dean feel uncomfortable - he didn't like others feeling sorry for him. “I’m sorry, Dean, I truly am. I know this is a lot for you to take in, but you need to understand that my being here is necessary. You can’t escape this, nor me. I need you to trust me, and I’ll answer all your questions and try and make this all as easy as I can for you. Do you trust me?”

Dean found himself nodding, not sure that he really did, still not looking up at Cas. He just wanted answers.

“Okay.” Castiel paused for a moment, as if trying to recollect all the questions that Dean had asked and work out an answer for them all. “I was sent to save you because you have a greater destiny than to die at the hands of a psychopathic gunman at the age of seventeen, having barely begun your life.” Dean looked up sharply at this, but didn’t speak. “In the future, you will save the lives of many people. This is why you cannot die in four days, you need longer to fulfil this destiny.” Castiel paused again, biting his lip for a moment before beginning to speak again. At first, Dean had found the low, deep tone of his voice slightly strange, considering it came from someone as young as himself, but he now found himself to be enjoying it. Something about it made him feel subconsciously calmer and safer. “As for who sent me, I cannot enclose that. The details of the afterlife are forbidden to be spoken to mortals, and I therefore cannot say. I knew of your fate a long time ago, and I was sent to watch over you about two months ago. I have been watching over you on and off, getting to know you better as an individual. Only now have I been allowed to reveal myself to you and to speak to you and tell you the information that you need to know, for you have not needed to know before now.” Dean noticed a small, slightly self-satisfied smile appear on Castiel’s face. He obviously felt pleased with himself for managing to answer so many questions in such a short amount of time - the arrogant git. “Was that all of your questions?”

Dean didn’t reply, he just watched the ghost before him through narrowed eyes. Okay, so now he was some kind of hero, destined to save the lives of many people and all that shit. Bloody hell, that couldn’t be right. He was just an average guy, just Dean Winchester. The guy that didn’t give two shits about his grades in school and nicked the occasional chocolate bar or pornography magazine from shops when the owners weren’t looking and wanted to become a professional mechanic when he grew up. The guy without a proper family who couldn’t really do anything, if he was being honest with himself. The fuck was all this destiny stuff? He didn’t want a destiny, he just wanted to be himself. He’d never saved another person before in his entire life.

“How often do you lot visit us 'mere mortals'?” Dean asked, throwing as much venom into the last two word as he could. This guy thought he was the son of God or something. He completely skirted around the whole destiny subject, hoping that it wouldn’t be mentioned again. He was grateful that he was being ‘saved’ from dying, but he couldn’t imagine himself becoming some sort of selfless do-gooder. He wasn’t a selfish guy, not at all, but it just didn’t seem realistic. Again, he was just Dean.

Castiel ignored his venomous tone. “As often as we have to. Sometimes there are things that need to be prevented or changed, so we visit people in their dreams or in reality.”  


“So why does no one believe in ghosts?”

Castiel gave him a pitying look, something that Dean didn’t like at all. “Are you going to go around telling people that you’ve been visited by a ghost that’s told you when you’re going to die?”

Unfortunately, he had a good point. Dean didn't reply, and went on to process the other facts that ghost boy had told him. Right, so someone that he can’t talk about sent him. Dean decided to avoid this subject as well. He’d never wanted to know what happened to people when they died – it would either make him spend his entire life dreading dying or make him want to speed up the process. Both were bad options; he was much better off in the dark. “I have more questions,” Dean said, slowly, studying Castiel’s impassive face. Was it in the job description not to show any sort of emotion at all at any point or some shit?

“Will it help you to trust me if I answer them?”

“Yes.”

“Proceed.”

“What was with all the weird dreams? Couldn’t you have just appeared like you have now?”

“I had to introduce you slowly to the idea of me, to get your mind to accept it more readily. Also, if I’d just appeared to you, you might think I was like you, and not believe me when I told you that I was from the afterlife. Then, if I showed you my powers, the shock could all become too much. This has happened to other mortals in the past, and they ended up never being the same again, their minds affected too heavily by the events. I want this experience to be as easy for you as possible. Basically, it’s all rather complex, but I needed to introduce your mind slowly to the idea of the supernatural existing.”

Dean nodded along with what Castiel was saying, not really taking much of it in. His mind wasn’t ready to accept the bloody supernatural even after all the strange-ass shit, it had done nothing but confuse the hell out of him and make him think he was going insane. Still, it was nice that the guy had tried not to freak him out too much, even if it had led to two days of hell. That didn't stop Dean being pissed off at him, though.

“Why was it you that they sent?” This had been edging at Dean’s mind since he’d first accepted the possibility that Castiel could be a ghost, but he’d made himself wait to ask. He was now eagerly awaiting Castiel’s response.

“I do not understand.”

“Why not one of the other ghosts?”

“I was chosen randomly from a pool of possible candidates. My age, personality and appearance was deemed to be a suitable match for helping you to accept the possibility of an afterlife and to evade your death. Others being sent may have made it harder for you to adjust, perhaps resulting in your death after all.” Castiel paused, and frowned slightly, small lines appearing on his forehead. “Would you rather it have been someone else sent to help you?”

Dean hesitated. He only knew one other person that had died (he’d never met any of his other family, and he didn’t know if any of them had kicked the bucket or not): his mother. He had been four years old, Sammy just eighteen months. He didn’t remember much of it, but there was enough. Him kissing Sammy goodnight, him going to bed. Then his father waking him up, then running at him with Sammy in his arms, telling him to take him and go. Then he was outside, watching as Sam’s nursery exploded in flames, his mother perishing inside. They never found out what caused the fire.

It had been thirteen years ago, but it still hurt like hell when he allowed himself to think about it. He still remembered his mother: her long, soft, golden hair, the way that she would tell him that angels were watching over him before he went to sleep every night, the soft, beautiful notes of her voice when she sang to him, the warmth of her presence. Her death was the reason why his father was never home. John had tried to continue being his father for a few years, then he’d slowly faded away, basically leaving Dean to raise his little brother, until they could barely speak to each other. Dean felt like he hadn’t just lost his mother to the fire on that fateful night on the 2nd November, he’d lost his father too.  


Would he rather it be his mother here in Castiel? Honestly, Dean didn’t know. He’d love to see his mother again, to see her face properly again, not frozen behind the glass of a photo frame, to hear her voice, to feel the soft, loving pressure of her touch. But he knew that Castiel wouldn’t be able to stay here forever - even without being told, he could guess that much. Would he be able to let his mother go for a second time? He didn’t know if he would’ve been able to lose her twice.

Snapping out of his thoughts, Dean shook his head forcefully. “No, you’ll do.”

The corners of Castiel’s lips lifted slightly, amusement playing with his facial features, and Dean realised that it was the first time that he’d seen him smile. He looked better when he smiled, his eyes crinkled slightly at the corners and the blue of them brightened. He looked less like a solemn omen of death, and more like someone that Dean could maybe call his friend, under normal circumstances.

“Do you have any other questions?” Castiel asked, quietly, after a minute or two, and Dean realised that he’d zoned out again.

“Erm, no, not at the moment. No wait, yeah there is. How long are you going to stick around?”

“Until after the shooting, just to make sure that you are safe.”

Dean nodded. “Can other people see you?”

“No, they cannot hear me either, not unless I interact with then in some way, say if I were to touch them or speak to them. Strictly speaking, we are only allowed to show ourselves to the person that we were sent to help or protect, but accidents can happen, for example, if I were to brush against someone, or sometimes it is necessary to intervene with an event and reveal ourselves, though this is rare. We are only usually sent in instances when this won’t occur.”

“Can you pick stuff up and open doors and stuff?”

“Yes, but others around us will have their minds modified to see it as something normal. Human minds are generally very easy to convince that they’ve seen something differently to how they actually see it.”

Dean huffed – the guy acted like he’d never been a human himself. “Okay, so what happens now?”

Castiel shrugged slightly. “I will stay with you for the next few days. Just do what you normally do and pretend I’m not here, whatever suits you best.”

Dean nodded again, finding that he was doing a lot of that lately. Well, at least the start of his holidays wouldn’t be quite as boring as he’d first imagined – he’d actually have someone to talk to. Even if that person was actually dead, had strange-ass powers and was here to save his life, or whatever. He would make it work. Maybe they’d become friends, and he’d be able to look back on this experience fondly. Maybe – right now he was just finding this shit to be too damn weird for him to ever even want to think about it again once it was all over. Perhaps it would all fade so that he could convince himself in later years that it was really just all a bad dream. Perhaps.

Castiel’s eyes flicked over him and Dean suddenly remembered that he was only in his boxers still from when he was sleeping. The fact that Castiel hadn’t mentioned it at all made him want to laugh, for some reason. He realised that he had another question for his new ghostly acquaintance.

“Okay, I have one last question. For now.”

“Go ahead.”

“Can I call you Cas?”

“Of course you can, Dean.”


	5. Wednesday: 3 days left

After having their little chat in his room, Dean sent Cas to wait downstairs whilst he changed into a more suitable outfit, brushed his teeth and styled his hair into its usual spiky manner with a small amount of hair gel. About ten minutes later, Dean bounded downstairs and into the kitchen. Cas was sitting in a dining table chair, where Dean had told him to sit, patiently waiting for him without anything to amuse himself, their eyes meeting the second Dean walked through the door, like he'd been watching the doorway the entire time.

“Dude, don’t you ever get bored or something?” Dean asked as he wandered over to the fridge, wondering what delights he could find himself for breakfast today. He remembered, sadly, that they didn’t have any pie left. He’d have to go and buy some more soon.

Cas shrugged slightly, watching Dean as he shut the fridge and moved on to search the cupboards for something else instead. “No, I suppose not. My emotions are different to yours, Dean. When you become like me, emotions and feelings are more… subdued, even if you come back to Earth. Well, there is one thing that isn’t subdued, but only one. I can experience emotions and feelings, and build family, friendly or romantic relationships and experience most human experiences, but it's not quite the same. I also don’t need to eat, sleep, drink or relieve myself anymore, but I suppose that’s kind of obvious. I only breathe out of habit, it’s a very hard thing to shake.”

Dean was only half-listening to Cas’ factual monologue as he rummaged around in the cupboards, making the occasional noise of confirmation in order to give the illusion of his fullest attention. Cas seemed to have a tendency for giving him a lecture when he asked the simplest of questions, which wasn't too bad of a thing to deal with, he supposed, but most of Dean's attention at that moment was focused on finding something to eat. After a large amount of rustling, the boy withdrew his head from a cupboard with something clutched in hand, a triumphant expression on his face – he’d found a bag of salted pretzels. He knew that it had been in there somewhere. Excellent, nourishing food: a great choice for breakfast. He wandered back over to Cas, opening the bag along the way and sat down heavily in the chair opposite the other boy, leaning back so that it tilted onto two legs.  


“So, you’re here to save me then,” Dean stated, as a means of starting a conversation to avoid an awkward silence, shoving a fistful of pretzels into his mouth, crunching on them loudly. Cas frowned at him disapprovingly, which only made him chomp on them more.

“That is correct,” Cas replied, stiffly, obviously finding his eating irritating, making Dean grin around the salty food.

“Hey, hey, I’ve seen _Final Destination_. If I don’t die in the shooting thing, don’t I have to die some other way in, like, the next couple of weeks or something so that Death gets what he wants or whatever?”

Cas rolled his eyes and sighed like Dean was being annoyingly stupid. “Do you always believe in horror films, Dean?”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Dean grumbled in response, shoving another load of pretzels into his mouth, not liking being shown up. It was just a question. He decided to change the subject. “Do you want some pretzels?”

“Weren’t you listening to me before? I don’t feel hunger anymore, Dean.”

“That’s not the question.”

Cas contemplated the idea for a moment, biting on his lip. “Okay then.”

Dean put the packet down on the table and slid it across to Cas who stopped it with his hand before it could fall off the table. He hesitantly removed one of the pretzels from the packet, held it up and studied it carefully, spending about a minute turning it and examining it from every angle for reasons unknown to Dean.

Dean rolled his eyes. “Are you gonna eat it or not, angel boy?”

Cas moved his gaze from the pretzel to Dean, his blue eyes warmer than they had been when Dean had met his gaze previously, but still holding that hint of aloofness and seriousness that just seemed to be a part of him. “I’m not an angel, Dean.” Nevertheless, he slowly put the pretzel into his mouth, closing his eyes as he crunched on it a few times before swallowing.

Dean watched him expectantly. “Nice?”

Cas frowned again, a rather unhappy expression on his face, looking down at the packet like it had offended him. “No, it’s rather like eating paper. Taste must also be muted through the transition between life and death. That is disappointing.”

Dean opened his mouth to say something, perhaps a word of reassurance or something to cheer him up, then realised that he had nothing to say. Instead, he stood, reached across the table and took the packet back, resuming his position back in the chair before starting to eat again. Cas watched him with a subtle mix of longing and sadness in his eyes. The tasting thing must really suck - Dean couldn't imagine never being able to taste pie again. Another reason to be grateful for Cas coming to stop him popping his clogs this weekend - more pie for him. He made a mental note to eat as much as damn possible whilst he still had the chance.

Dean's mind moved on from the thought of pie, and another question had been eating at him for a little while swam into his thoughts. He longed to ask it, but he didn’t know how Cas would react or whether he would actually answer it. Oh well, there was no way to know until he actually asked.

“Er, Cas,” Dean started, hesitantly, making sure that he’d swallowed his mouthful before he began to speak. He wanted to be in the ghost’s good books for this. “If you don’t mind me asking, erm, how did you die?”

The dark haired boy’s eyes widened slightly in surprise, like he was shocked that Dean would ask such a question. Then his expression became closed off, like it tended to be in the short time that Dean had been talking to him. “I don’t want to talk about it, thank you.”

Dean pulled a face. “Oh come on, you don’t have to go into much detail, I just-“

“You’re not very sensitive, are you?” The words would normally be posed as a question, but it was spoken as a statement. A very coldly stated observation.

Dean stopped speaking mid-sentence, feeling his own expression becoming more closed off as feelings of resentment towards Castiel gathered within him. It had only been a simple question. “Fine then,” he said, shortly.

The two sat in uncomfortable, frosty silence whilst Dean finished his pretzels, making sure to crunch on them as loudly as possible to piss off Cas as much as possible. Why? Because he was massively childish when it came to arguments, something that Sammy made sure to remind him of often. From the occasional disapproving, icy glance that was sent his way, Dean could guess that he was doing a pretty good job.

When the packet was at long last empty, Dean stood, pushing his chair back so that it scraped loudly on the tile floor, making Cas wince a little. He walked round to the kitchen and threw his packet in the bin before looking back at Cas. The boy was now resting his elbows on the table, his head held in his hands, his shoulders slumped forwards. It was the position of a defeat, and only then did Dean realise what a douche bag he’d been. He’d assumed that the boy had died of something quite mundane, maybe cancer or something, perhaps a car crash. It hadn’t occurred to him that the boy’s death could’ve been something much darker and a hell of a lot more traumatic. What if he’d been tortured or raped or killed in some horrifically painful way? Dean felt sick.

He walked back to the table and put a hand on the other boy’s shoulder, making him jump slightly and turn around to look up at him, his blue eyes filled with sadness. His shoulder was warm, which surprised Dean. He didn’t know what he’d been expecting really, but he was just so… so real. How did he just feel like a regular person when he was actually dead? Everything anyone thought about ghosts was wrong – it was strange to think that he would one of the few to know the truth. Were there any other supernatural creatures were there out there? This wasn't the time to ask.

“Cas, I, I’m sorry about asking about your, you know,” Dean said, awkwardly, squeezing the boy’s shoulder slightly before taking the hand away and scratching his ear as he often did when he was uncomfortable. “You’re right, I’m not very sensitive and I wasn’t thinking, I was just curious. I won’t ask about it again, okay? I’m sorry.”

Cas smiled weakly at him, the sadness fading from his eyes slightly, but a hint of it still lingered. “Thank you for apologising, Dean. I understand that curiosity can get the better of us sometimes. It was two years ago, but I still don’t like to think of it, and would definitely prefer it if we didn’t speak of it again.”

Dean nodded, guilt eating away at him, but he tried to push it away. “Of course. Does time pass the same in, you know, wherever you go when you, er, die?”

“Yes and no. It’s very complex, and I am forbidden to speak of it anyway. You’ll find out when it’s your time to find out, Dean.”

Dean sighed, everything was so bloody vague. “Fair enough. So, we’re all happy and friends again now?”

Cas’ smile grew into a full one, which made Dean smile too. His smile, as rare as it was, was certainly infectious. It was also rather pleasant to behold. “Yes, I suppose so.”

* * *

At first, Dean had been unsure of what to do with the day, considering that he had his new ghostly friend tailing him wherever he went. Sammy wasn’t back yet, and Dean didn’t know when he would be. He didn’t want to be caught in the middle of a game of Monopoly or something with the ghost, and then have to explain to his brother why he was playing by himself. He eventually settled for putting on the TV. He still wanted to talk to the ghost about, well, stuff. He wasn’t entirely comfortable with the whole situation yet and was still getting his head around it.

By eleven, the two were half way through _The Matrix_ which Cas hadn’t seen when he was alive, much to Dean’s surprise. He’d jokingly asked if they had TVs in the afterlife when he was sorting out the DVD player, then had to endure a long-ass, monotonous speech about how ‘the afterlife is different’ to real life and how ‘he couldn’t possibly understand it until he himself died’ and how ‘complicated’ it all was and all that crap. He’d ended up zoning out, much to Cas’ annoyance.

Every so often, as they watched, Cas would get confused and ask him something about the plot line, and Dean would have to answer distractedly since he was only half watching. He was running through everything in his head over and over, everything that Cas had told him about his ‘death day’, which he'd started to refer to as 'Doomsday' in his mind, everything about Cas, everything about…. well everything he’d learnt in the past couple of hours. It was weird, it felt like he’d known Cas for days, yet the ghost had only appeared in his bedroom doorway an hour or two ago. He could just add that the long, ever-growing list of things that he’d thought to be mildly strange in the past few days.

As he went through it over and over, something stuck in his head – the details of his shooting. Something about it made it loop in his head like a song played on repeat until it annoyed the hell out of you, like he was missing an important detail somewhere, yet he couldn’t put his finger on it. They were reaching the end of the film when Dean suddenly realised what it was that had been subconsciously bothering him.

“Cas?” he said, turning suddenly to look at the other boy.

The ghost appeared to be completely caught up in the film, his blue eyes trained on the screen, his mouth slightly open. He didn’t even glance Dean’s way as he answered. “Yeah?”

“In the shooting, do other people die besides me?” His voice was quiet.

Cas looked away from the film, seeming to completely forget about it in one very short moment, despite being so entranced by it before. This couldn't be good. His blue eyes searched Dean’s, and Dean returned his gaze resolutely. He could see the ghost struggling to find the right answer, as if he already knew what Dean was thinking.

“Yes,” he eventually answered, his voice careful, as if trying not to provoke an attack. Dean stiffened minutely at the reply. “Besides yourself, there are twenty others that are killed before security can stop the man. Several more are injured, either by bullets or from the panic.”

“Have ghosts been sent to save all of them as well?” Dean asked, his voice and facial expression devoid of any emotion. His gaze travelled away from Cas’ to stare blankly at the TV screen, the film still playing without anyone paying attention to it.

Cas tensed slightly, probably anticipating the storm that was about it be unleashed. “No, Dean, not everyone can be saved, that’s not the way it works. I don’t know how I can explain it to you, I don’t understand it myself, but you must be saved, and the other people... Well, it is what has to be.”

“So you’re just going to stand by and let all of those people die?” Dean asked, coldly, still refusing to meet Cas’ gaze.

“No, Dean, I, well, I suppose, but I can’t-“

Dean cut him off, acting as if he hadn’t even spoken in the first place. “You expect me to just stand by as well and watch them die, even though I know it’s going to happen?”  


Cas’ voice took on a panicky tone. “No, no, Dean, no you can’t. Dean it can’t be helped, please, just listen to me for a second, please, I-“

Dean whipped his head around to look back at Cas, fire dancing in his eyes, turning them a darker shade of green, his expression fierce and intense. Cas seemed to be a little taken back by the sudden wave of intensity that radiated off of him and trailed off, leaning back a little, probably automatically.

“If you think that I’m not going to try and help those people, then you’ve got another thing coming, Castiel, because I am not the sort of person that can stand by and watch twenty other people die and not lift a damn finger to try and stop it.” His voice was a hoarse, yet strong, whisper, full of emotion, his eyebrows furrowing together to form a deeply angered expression. He rose from the sofa, drawing himself to full height, looking down at the ghost, who didn’t seem to know how to respond to the sudden change of events. “I’m going to go find a way to stop this, then I’m going to go to that shopping centre in four days’ time and I’m going save those people, Castiel, and if you don’t like it, you can shove it up your ghostly arsehole.”

With that, Dean swept out of the living room and thundered up the stairs to his room, leaving Castiel sitting alone on his sofa, the TV still playing the end of the film in the background.


	6. Wednesday: 3 days left

Much to Dean’s annoyance, by the time he’d stomped up the stairs and into his room, Cas was already in there, sitting on the edge of his bed, watching him with an unreadable expression on his face. Damn his stupid ghost teleporting thing. The faint noises of the TV still floated up from downstairs.

“You didn’t turn the TV off,” Dean said, gruffly, refusing to speak of what had caused him to come upstairs in the first place.

“My apologies,” Cas replied, before disappearing. The noises were abruptly cut off, then Cas was back on the edge of his bed, acting like he’d never left. Dean shook his head subtly, would he ever get used to this?

Cas took a deep breath – which was strange since he didn’t need to breathe – and met Dean’s gaze firmly. “Dean,” he began, slowly and hesitantly, almost like he was waiting for Dean to cut him off again and have another rant at him. Dean didn’t, he just folded his arms across his chest and watched the ghost impassively. He’d said all he needed to say. When he realised that he was being allowed to speak, Cas continued. “Dean, I know that you want to help those people, I do too, but my mission here is to save you. I can’t put you in jeopardy, you need to fulfil your destiny.” Dean rolled his eyes – why did he have to make everything sound so grand and important? Jesus. “Please can you just try to forget about it? You’re going to save people in the future, but when you’re ready. It could be suicidal if you were to storm in on Saturday and try to stop it. What if it just resulted in you getting shot first, then the rest of the people dying too? What about all the people that you’re going to save when you’re older? They’ll all die if you die.”

Dean sighed – Cas had a point, but Dean was never one to listen to reason. He was also extraordinarily stubborn. “I don’t care, Cas. I have to save them, or die trying. I just have to. I’d live the rest of my life in guilt otherwise, and what’s the point in that when I can just save them?"

It was Cas’ turn to roll his eyes. “You’re not very easily persuaded when you’ve got your mind set on something, are you?”

“No.”

The ghost sighed and looked at the ground. “Fine. You can help them-” Dean let out a huff: he didn’t need Castiel’s permission; he’d like to see the ghost try and bloody stop him. Cas ignored him. “-but I will help you. And we will be doing it sensibly with a _plan_ , we will _not_ just barge in there, guns blazing, and wing it. That will end in you getting killed, and I will get my ass kicked when I return to the afterlife with you in tow. We will try and prevent it from happening before the incident, okay?”

Dean chewed on his bottom lip as he contemplated the proposal. It did sound a lot better than his plan for chance of survival, and it would be good to have Cas’ help. He didn’t know what the other boy had stored up in that ghostly little head of his.

“Fine,” Dean said, eventually, uncrossing his arms. “You can help me.”

Cas smiled a little. “Good.”

* * *

Dean quickly decided that lunch was their first priority, then they’d plan how to prevent a mass killing. As he’d pointed out, you can’t plan on an empty stomach. Cas had started to retort, probably to say that he could, but Dean had smacked him in the back of his head like he would do to Sammy, causing the boy to complain about that instead. After that, probably because he didn’t want to be hit again (though he probably didn't feel pain), Cas had grudgingly agreed, and he’d waited patiently at the table whilst Dean put a frozen, meat feast pizza in the oven before coming over to sit with him whilst it cooked.

“So, where should we start?” Dean asked, drumming his fingers on the table top as he watched Castiel.

Cas frowned at his drumming fingers, making Dean chuckle under his breath – it seemed that every habit he had annoyed the ghost. “Well, it would help if you knew some information about him,” the boy began, running his hand through his dark brown hair, suddenly seeming nervous or uncomfortable for some reason, not meeting Dean’s gaze. Dean stopped drumming his fingers, but Cas remained in the same agitated state. Dean wondered why he was getting so wound up. “The shooter is a man, late thirties, medium length, blonde hair, very dark brown eyes, about six foot tall. He’s mentally unstable and has murdered previously, though not enough people to arouse suspicion, and definitely never a mass shooting. His name is Gordon Smith.” It was all spoken in a huge rush, the words running together, and he was now panting.

Dean felt concern wash over him and he reached out to the other boy. “Hey, Cas, what’s wrong?”

The ghost pushed his hand away, then ran the hand through his rumpled hair again, making it even more mussed up, gripping onto the side of the table with his other hand. His breathing quickly settled, and the wild look was lost from his eyes as he met Dean’s gaze. “Nothing, nothing, I’m fine,” he responded, ducking his head slightly.

Dean narrowed his eyes at the ghost – he obviously wasn’t fine. “We can talk about it if you-“

“Dean,” Cas cut him off sharply, meeting his gaze again. His blue eyes were hard, his face closed off, hiding all emotion. “Leave it.”

Dean raised his hands in mock-surrender, watching him with a slightly puzzled expression on his face. Castiel seemed to want to reveal nothing about himself, period. Fine, if he wanted to suffer in silence, that was his choice. “Okay, okay, I’ll leave it,” he mumbled, rolling his eyes slightly.

The ghost sighed, then looked at the table top, reaching out a long finger to slowly trace the lines and knots on it. Dean's gaze followed his finger as it explored the old wooden surface - this table had belonged to his mother's parents, it had been in the family for years. “He lives on the other side of town, alone. He works as a barman in a bar in town. Little to no friends, no family left, no spouse nor lover. Not even a pet.”

Dean nodded, not speaking, not wanting to accidently upset the ghost again. “What should we do, then?”

Cas shrugged. “We can go and see him, visit his house, visit his friends or colleagues, whatever you think will help.”

“Can we go and see him? I think I’ll need to have a visual,” Dean asked, cautiously. Cas still seemed to be a little upset by whatever it was that had affected him before, and Dean didn’t want to make him more uncomfortable. For someone with ‘subdued emotions’, he was pretty temperamental.

“I can find his exact location now, please give me a moment.”

The ghost closed his eyes and scrunched up his face, obviously concentrating hard on something. Dean wanted to laugh at the expression, but didn’t want to offend him and upset him further, so settled for letting a smile form on his mouth at Cas’ face. After a moment, Cas opened his eyes and looked up abruptly, surprising Dean, and not giving him time to wipe the smirk off his face.

“What are you smiling at?” Cas asked, squinting slightly at him suspiciously.

“Nothing.”

“Smith is at his house.”

“Great, let’s kill him.”

Dean’s suggestion seemed to make Cas forget whatever had upset him, as his face took on an expression of surprise and condescendence, his eyebrows raised. “Excuse me?”  


“Well, we need to avoid the shooting. Why not just bump him off?”

Cas rolled his eyes, obviously finding his idea to be extraordinarily stupid. What gave him the right to act so bloody superior all the bloody time? It pissed Dean off. “You’ll be caught, Dean – you can’t help people if you’re rotting in prison. Besides, what murder weapons do you possess? A knife would be very messy, and probably easy to trace.”

Dean didn’t answer, he just pursed his lips. It had seemed like a good idea at the time. He decided to leave the topic. “You got the location of his house?”

“Of course.”

“Then let’s just go.”

* * *

After eating his pizza (he offered some to Cas, who, of course, refused), Dean left a note for Sammy telling him that he’d gone to town in case he came back from Jess’ whilst he was out. He and Cas then left the house and got into the Impala. It had finally stopped raining, after freaking days of it, and the sun was out, warming Dean through his green, canvas jacket. It was nice that the weather had remembered that it was actually summer, and not bloody winter or something. When he and Cas were settled in the car, Dean awaited a compliment for his Baby, as he usually got one when he gave people a lift, but Cas remained silent, his blue gaze focused on an unknown spot through the windscreen. Dean cleared his throat, but all he got was a sideways glance from his companion.

“Are we departing or not, Dean?”

Dean let out a huffing noise, muttering something unintelligible under his breath, but started up the car anyway, revelling in the purr of her engine, turning on the music. He quickly backed out of the driveway and began to drive towards town, under Cas' careful instructions on where to go. Maybe good taste in cars was subdued in the afterlife as well.

About twenty minutes later, he pulled up opposite the house that Cas had directed him to. Much to Dean’s surprise, they hadn’t got lost once, even though the house seemed to be hidden in estate after bloody estate. Did all ghosts have inbuilt SatNav?

The house wasn’t what Dean had expected; he hadn’t known what he’d been expecting, but this definitely wasn’t it. It was your average estate house, identical to the ones next to it and across from it, number 66. He didn’t know if he’d been expecting a sprawling gothic manor or a decaying caravan parked in the middle of a field somewhere, but the house seemed to be in good condition. The front lawn was neatly mown, the curtains drawn back from the windows to reveal a sparsely decorated, pale-themed interior, a black Ford Fiesta parked in the driveway in front of the garage. An average house, probably holding an average man. That was the most terrifying part for Dean – killers can be anyone: you never know who you can trust.

Dean cut the engine, then looked over at Cas. The boy looked even paler than usual and his hands were shaking minutely, his blue gaze fixed on the house. Whatever it was that was spooking him, it was spooking him bad. Dean felt sympathy for the boy wash over him, and he was overcome by the sudden urge to hug him.

“Cas, you okay, buddy?” he asked, carefully, watching the ghost’s face intently.

Cas flicked his gaze away from the house to Dean’s face, biting his lip, hard by the looks of it. He didn’t reply.

“Where’s Smith?” Dean tried again, unsure of how to help the dark haired boy. He was surprised by how much he wanted to help him, stop him feeling so scared. It was the sort of urge that he felt whenever he knew Sam was upset.

Cas closed his eyes briefly, concentrating hard again for a moment, then they flew open again, panic filling them and crossing his face like a bolt of lightning. “He’s coming outside!”

Dean turned to look across the road just as the shiny, black front door to the house opened. He heard and sensed Cas stiffen in the leather seat next to him. Smith stepped outside, and again, Dean was struck by how normal he looked. Cas’ description had been incredibly accurate. The man was wearing a simple black tee-shirt, black jeans and blue converse. His blond hair was down to about level with his broad shoulders and a little wild looking, and he was tall and muscular. The only thing that was slightly strange was, and Dean only noticed when he turned, his eyes. They were very dark, almost black – he could see that even from across the road. Fortunately, Smith paid no attention to Dean, Cas (which wasn't a surprise, as he couldn't see him) or the car, didn’t even glance their way, and turned back to his house, locked the door, then strode across the lawn to his car. The man unlocked it, climbed in and pulled out of the driveway, and Dean watched him until he had driven out of sight. He then turned back to Cas.

The ghost was in an even worse state than before, his blue eyes wide and filled with terror, his knuckles white as he held tightly to the armrest on the door, his chest heaving as he fought for breath. The worst thing for Dean was the fact that he had no idea what was wrong or how to help.

Dean shuffled over on the seat, glad that his Baby had one long front seat instead of it being split into two, and put an arm around Cas’ shoulders. The ghost closed his eyes, obviously fighting to control his fear. It was a few minutes before his eyes opened again, and he shuffled to the side, away from Dean. Dean took that as he cue to remove his arm from him and sit in the driving seat again, which he did. He busied himself with starting up the engine again and fiddling with the music to find a song that he wanted to listen to – there was no point in them staying with Smith having driven off.

“Thank you, Dean.” Cas’ voice was small, quiet and unexpected. Dean glanced over at him to see him staring into his lap, looking calmer than before, but perhaps a little embarrassed.

Dean's voice held a note of confusion. “What for?”

“Your reassurance, and for trying to help me. I thank you for your attempts, but it is something that I cannot bring myself to tell you, and I would rather keep it to myself.”

Dean frowned, but nodded. He was curious as to what it was that had provoked such a strong reaction in the boy. It was obviously something to do with Smith – did they have a shared past? Had they known each other before Cas’ death? “Okay, Cas. Let me know if you change your mind.”

“I will, Dean.”

They drove home in relative silence, save for Dean humming and occasionally singing along to Motorhead, which was the first habit of his that he’d shown that Cas didn’t actually seem to mind.


	7. Wednesday: 3 days left

When Dean and Cas returned from visiting Smith’s house, Dean quickly discovered that Sam had also returned home, meaning that he had to stop explaining the plot to _The Matrix_ to Cas halfway through. The ghost had questioned him about it as they'd pulled into the driveway, after spending the whole journey in silence, explaining that he’d missed the ending and hadn’t understood half of it anyway. Dean had ended up getting rather frustrated at Cas’ lack of understanding, resulting in raising of voices as they walked around the house, but ending with them laughing about it.

“Who were you talking to?” Sam questioned, a puzzled look on his face, as Dean walked in through the back door, his laughter cutting off abruptly, and kicked off his boots, an invisible-to-Sam-Cas on his tail. Dean’s younger brother was sitting at the kitchen table, munching his way through a large bowl of cereal. Did the kid eat anything else?

“I don’t know what you're talking about.”

“I heard you whilst you were outside the house. Why were you shouting about spoons?”

“Shut up, Sammy.” Dean had quickly left the kitchen after that, Cas and Sam snickering behind him. “And you,” he muttered under his breath to Cas as they walked upstairs together. The ghost gave him an innocent look, but grinned all the same. It seemed the more he got to know him, the more Cas seemed to smile.

When they got into his room, Dean shut the door behind them quickly, turning around to face Cas, who was still wearing a shit-eating grin. “Gonna have to be more careful about that,” Dean murmured, walking around his bed and taking a seat in his desk chair. Cas resumed his usual position on the edge of Dean’s bed, one hand reaching out to trace over the creases in the navy, checked duvet.

“We’ll just have to talk more quietly,” Cas replied, his voice slightly lower than before. Dean didn’t know why he’d bothered – Sam couldn’t hear him anyway. Maybe it was to remind himself to do it. “How often are your family in?”

Dean shrugged. “You should know, you’ve been stalking me for months.” Cas opened his mouth to retort, but Dean started to speak again before he could come up with some indignant response. “I don’t know, Dad’s pretty much always out, but Sam will either be here or at Jess’. He’s the one I’ve gotta watch out for.”  


There was silence for a moment before it was broken by Cas. “Where’s your mother?”

Dean frowned, leaning back in his chair, watching Cas with a guarded expression, which the dark haired boy returned with an open one. Anyone who knew Dean knew not to talk to him about his mother, he didn’t even discuss it with Sam. He didn’t think about it, he didn’t talk about it – it just hurt too much. “You’re the one with all the facts, Castiel, you tell me.”

Cas bit his lip, looking at his hands in his lap. “I wasn’t told about your mother – it was deemed unimportant in the briefing that I received and I didn’t ask.”

“So you’re just curious?”

“Yes, I suppose so?”

“Like I was about your death?”

Cas looked back at him, slight surprise registering on his face, then realisation and acceptance. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realise that it was such a tender subject.”

Dean stood from the chair and walked over to the window, looking out of it, his back to Cas, arms folded over his chest. He could feel the ghost’s gaze burning holes in the back of his head. It was a beautiful day outside. “Yeah, well, you know now.”

Cas nodded, then looked away again. “So, how are we going to stop this shooting?”

Dean relaxed, glad for a change of subject, and glad that Cas now seemed to be so on board with the whole thing. He moved over to sit on the edge of the bed beside Cas, then swung his long legs onto the mattress, shuffling backwards to sit against the headboard. Cas watched him from the end of the bed. Dean let out a long sigh. “I don’t know, you didn’t like my plan very much, did you?”

Cas rolled his eyes. “That’s because your plan wasn’t feasible.”

“Ah, shut up. Could we report him to the police?”

“For what?”

“I don’t know, having weapons and shit?”

“He has them well hidden, the police won’t go off the grounds of a suspicion reported by yourself, we’d need more evidence. I don’t even know where he keeps them.”

“Well, what the hell are we going to do then?!”

“I don’t know, Dean! You’re the one that’s hell-bent on saving them.”

Dean huffed, crossing his arms across his chest again, a defensive look on his face. Cas played with the sleeve of his long, white t-shirt – did ghosts never change their clothes? It didn’t appear that they did.

“Look, Dean. How about we leave it for a bit? We’ve got about two days left, that’s plenty of time. How about you do something else for a bit, then we’ll come back to it with a fresh mind?”

Dean made a grudging sound of agreement: he wanted to find a solution to this problem, but he knew that Cas had a point. He’d been thinking on it for too long - the whole silent car journey back had been spent racking his brains over what to do - he needed to take his mind off it for a bit. Which might be harder than it sounded, since the lives of twenty people were at stake.

“Well, what should I do?”

Cas sent a confused look his way. “I don’t know, what do you do normally in your free time?”

Dean pursed his lips and made a clicking sound with his tongue. What did he do normally? Well, he worked on Baby sometimes, but Cas couldn’t really do that with him. The ghost had told him that he didn’t feel boredom in the same way as he did, but he’d still feel a bit awkward, and he couldn’t talk to him out there because Sam might hear them. He couldn’t even watch TV with him again with Sam around, because, being him, he’d be bound to forget that Cas was invisible to everyone but him and start chattering to him. Whatever they did, they were confined to Dean’s room, unless Sammy went out or something.

“Erm,” Dean looked around his room for inspiration. It was sparse, holding only his double bed, a bedside table, a wardrobe and his desk. A small bookshelf was positioned above his bedside table, mainly holding car manuals, and posters of cars, films, bands and girls covered most of the walls, but otherwise, there wasn’t really any form of decoration. He didn’t even own that many things. He decided to turn the question on Cas instead. “What do you like doing?”

Cas looked a little taken aback at being asked, but recovered with a small shrug. “I don’t know, I haven’t done anything to pass free time in two years, Dean." He paused, then added, more softly, "I always liked playing board games with my brothers.”

For some reason, the casual comment tugged at something in Dean’s chest, causing him to bite his lip, hard, and look away. Cas had had brothers, brothers that would have been torn apart at his death, maybe sisters too. What about his parents? How had they felt when one of their sons had been taken from them? What would Dean’s dad feel if he were to die on Saturday? What would Sammy feel? The kid had already lost his mother, he couldn’t lose a brother too. For the first time, Dean felt a large twinge of doubt at his plan to try and save the people in the shopping centre. Could he really risk leaving Sam without any family to speak of, besides a lousy excuse for a father?

Then he thought of the people that were destined to die, realised that they had family too. Brothers, sisters, parents, spouses, lovers, children, grandchildren: he couldn’t let some bastard deprive them all of a loved one. The realisation served only to make him more resolute in his mind that he had to save them all, or die trying. Screw Cas’ mission; if he could just save two people, it would be worth it. He didn’t matter, the world could survive with one less mechanic.

“I have Monopoly,” he said, eventually. He looked up at Cas to see that the boy’s blue eyes were bright, a smile on his face.

“I used to love Monopoly,” he admitted. “But I will warn you, I always win.”

Dean cracked a grin, his green eyes twinkling with mischief. “Oh you’re on, ghostie.”

* * *

After rooting under his bed, under Sam’s bed and in his wardrobe for a while, Dean finally extracted his copy of the game, letting out a pleased ‘Aha!’ when he finally located it. It was a Star Wars edition, but Cas didn’t seem to mind. Together, they set it up quickly and settled down on the carpeted floor. Dean put on some loud music on his laptop, AC/DC, to be precise, to drown out his voice in case he forgot to stay quiet and Sam got curious, and they began to play. As predicted, Cas pulled into the lead within an hour of beginning the game, and had won in just less than two hours.

The ghost let out a triumphant whoop when Dean finally, grudgingly, admitted that he was bankrupt after landing on Cas’ third hotel in a row, gathering all his money together and hugging it to his chest like a small child that had just won their first game after their parent let them cheat shamelessly.

“You know, that doesn’t count as a win,” Dean informed the dark haired boy as he performed a small, endearing victory dance from his seat on the ground, whilst Dean gathered up all the houses and hotels that had placed during the game (all by Cas) and put them to the side.

Cas paused, mid-air punch. “May I inquire as to why?” he asked, handing his money to Dean as the other boy put the all the pieces and cards back into their original spaces.

“’Cause I haven’t played in years, so it isn’t fair. We need a rematch, then we’ll decide who the real winner is.”

Cas frowned. “Dean, I don’t think that’s really a valid re-“

“Shut up, angel boy. Get your money.”

The ghost rolled his eyes, probably more at the nickname than Dean’s response, but took the correct amount of starting money anyway, ready to play again. As before, much to Dean’s dismay, Cas took the obvious lead very quickly.

“You’re cheating,” Dean stated as Cas put another load of houses onto the board, a pleased expression on the dark haired boy’s face.

The ghost looked up at him, sticking his tongue out playfully, mirth dancing in his ocean blue eyes, making Dean grin. “I am not, you just can’t admit that I’m better at this than you.”

“No you’re not, I’m just out of practise.”

“I’m dead, Dean. I’m the one that should have rusty skills, not you.”

There was silence for a moment, as both boys were unsure of how to respond to what Cas had just said - even Cas himself didn’t know what to make of it. Then Dean threw his head back and laughed loudly, his whole body shaking slightly from the force of it, and Cas soon joined in, both of them forgetting about the game. Dean looked back at Cas again when the laughter finally died in his throat, watching the ghost as his own shoulders shook with laughter, his blue eyes bright as he returned his gaze. The two didn’t say anything, and Cas’ laughter faded, leaving them staring at each other in silence, AC/DC still playing in the background, both unable to look away for several moments. Dean noticed that Cas’ eyes looked different to how they’d looked when they’d first met, that very morning, less sombre and more alive from the laughter and the warmth of friendship, rather hypnotically blue.

Dean was the first to look away, glancing down at the carpet and then at the bed on his right, clearing his throat awkwardly. He didn’t know what to make of what had just happened. Cas chucked the dice at him across the board a moment later, the plastic cubes hitting his arm, making him jerk suddenly and causing them both to laugh again, in a less uncontrolled way than before, and play resumed. The moment that they’d shared wasn’t mentioned, but Dean certainly didn’t forget it.

Three hours of play later (Dean was putting up a better fight this time, but still obviously losing), and Dean glanced up at Cas, another question for him burning in his mind, one that he’d only just thought of. The ghost’s dark eyebrows were furrowed as he counted his money, trying to decide whether or not to buy another hotel. As if sensing Dean’s eyes on him, he glanced up and raised his eyebrows. Not wanting another eye contact moment that he wouldn’t know what to make of, Dean half-smiled, then quickly posed the question.

“Hey, have you, you know, come down and helped anyone else before?”

Cas tilted his head slightly to one side, confusion flitting across his features, his money counting forgotten. “I do not understand.”

“I mean, since you, er, died, have you come down and saved anyone else’s life or whatever weird-ass missions you’re given by your almighty leader?”

Cas’ face cleared as he understood what Dean was trying to ask, then he shook his head. “No, I only left Earth two years ago, and we are all given time to adjust to our new… I don’t know how to describe it, perhaps surroundings? We’re all given at least a year before we’re sent down again, and all missions are voluntary anyway.”

Dean raised an eyebrow. “You volunteered to come and help me?”

“Yes. I rather hoped I’d be chosen.”

“Why?”

Cas gave Dean a long look, his blue eyes hiding something from the other boy. There was something about this whole thing that linked to Cas, with him having his mini freak out in the Impala and now this, but Dean just couldn’t figure it out. He hoped that Cas would tell him at some point, because he was dying to know, but the ghost had made it very clear that he didn’t want to tell him yet, and Dean would respect his wishes (not that he really had a choice). “I have… unfinished business here, I think, that links to you and the events that I have been sent to prevent,” Cas replied, eventually, slowly.

Dean nodded, a slightly perplexed look on his face – what the hell was that supposed to mean? Cas bit his lip, his eyes showing an internal war going on in his mind, half-opened his mouth as if he were going to say more, then shook his head minutely and went back to counting his money, starting from zero again. Dean pursed his lips; everything about everything was bloody annoying and confusing, why couldn’t anything just be simple?

* * *

It took another hour for Cas to actually defeat Dean, and another half hour of arguing for Dean to actually admit defeat.

“The dice were biased!”

“No they weren’t, Dean. Dice don’t have feelings.”

“Well… you slipped yourself some extra money whilst I went to the toilet.”

“How could I have? You counted my money before and after you went, twice, after convincing yourself that I would cheat whilst you were gone, which I wouldn’t have.”

“Totally would have.”

“What was that?”

“Nothing.”

Eventually, Dean went downstairs, grumbling the whole way, to get himself something to eat, leaving Cas to clear up the game, which Dean claimed was only fair since Cas had cheated (he’d run out of the room before the ghost could complain). It was eight o’clock and Dean was starving, despite pulling random snacks out from under his bed throughout the two games, munching on them loudly whilst Cas complained that he was trying to concentrate, which only made him eat louder. He quickly found a packet of bacon and decided to fry it up for some sandwiches. He’d forgotten to do the weekly shop with the whole you’re-going-to-die-Dean thing, but it looked like Sam had done it for him, even though it was Dean's turn and he was only thirteen. The kid was an absolute legend sometimes, but the amount of maturity that he'd had to develop, despite his years, pained Dean.

He could hear the sounds of the TV coming from the living room, sounds that sounded suspiciously like Star Wars, and assumed that Sam was in there. After putting some bacon in the pan, Dean wandered into the room to find that his suspicions were correct. After complaining that he was watching it without him (“I thought you were busy!”), Dean thanked him for doing the shop and offered him some bacon sandwiches, which his brother politely declined on the grounds that he was a terrible cook and would probably burn it (which was correct).

When Dean meandered back to the kitchen, completely forgetting that he’d already put the bacon in the pan, he found Cas minding the food, prodding it with a spatula and turning it.

“Ah, thanks for that, Cas,” Dean spoke, quietly so that Sam wouldn’t hear him, walking over to the boy and gently pushing him aside so that he could finish cooking it on his own. He didn’t like accepting help from others, even if it was just watching over some bacon. He couldn’t help it – he’d had to learn to become independent at a very young age.

Cas smiled subtly at him, allowing himself to be forcibly moved out of the way. “You should be thankful, you almost burned the house down. You shouldn’t leave pans like that.”

“Yeah, yeah, shut up will you?”

Under Cas’ instructions, which he reluctantly followed, Dean managed not to burn the meat for once, which resulted in four very respectable looking sandwiches for himself, which he took upstairs to eat, Cas following behind. Since he didn’t have a TV in his room, Dean couldn’t find anything for them to do for a bit, until Cas suggested that they just watch something on his laptop, which Dean had forgotten they could do. They both settled down on Dean’s bed, backs against the headboard, and Dean quickly found a good (illegal) site for films and put on a comedy that he’d seen a year or two back, which Cas seemed to enjoy immensely. As he ate his sandwiches, Dean noticed that the ghost would laugh at the smallest of jokes, his eyes crinkling at the corners, his mouth opening wide, revealing his perfect, white teeth. Dean involuntarily started watching Cas when the jokes came on instead of the screen, wanting to see him laugh again. Eventually, he caught himself doing it, slightly surprised that he had been and unsure of why, and half-growled at himself (which was fortunately covered by another loud laugh from his companion) to stop it, which he didn’t quite manage. Fortunately, Cas didn’t seem to notice.

When the end credits came on, Cas eagerly demanded that he put on another film. A little taken aback by his eagerness - he hadn’t been so forward before now - Dean put on another one, an action film this time, so that Cas would laugh less. He hoped that it would stop him looking at the ghost as much - it only helped a little.

The second film ended at around midnight and Dean yawned loudly. He was tired – it wasn’t like he’d gotten much sleep the night before. Had it only been this morning that Cas had appeared in his doorway? It felt like he’d known the boy for weeks. Was that another side effect of being dead, you got people to know you better? Maybe it was because the boy had been around him for months, watching him without him knowing. Maybe it had subconsciously helped him to adjust to his presence, and therefore made it easier for Dean to get to know him? Hell, Dean didn’t know – to be honest, he was sick of all this weird, ghost shit.

“Can we watch another film?” Cas asked, eagerly, looking at Dean with happiness shining subtly in his blue eyes. Wow, someone really liked the movies. Maybe he missed them, since he couldn’t watch them anymore. The thought made Dean sad, so he quickly pushed it out of his mind.

“No, I’m tired as shit, I’m going to sleep,” Dean replied, quickly shutting down the laptop before Cas could snatch it off him or something.

Cas pouted ever so slightly, but didn’t argue. “Okay then.”

Slightly awkwardly, Dean asked Cas to move off the bed so that he could sort out the covers. Then he stripped down to his boxers, closed the curtains and got into bed. Cas watched him from beside the wardrobe, twisting his hands together, his gaze flitting around the room.

“I don’t sleep,” the ghost stated, not meeting Dean’s gaze.

“Er…” Dean didn’t know what to do. Did that mean that the ghost was just going to stay awake the whole night, watching him? That was a thought that made him feel quite uncomfortable. “Do you want to, er, try? It might be like the whole eating thing.”

“Where?”

Dean bit his lip – that was a good question. He didn’t have a sofa or anything in his room, not so much as a blow-up bed in the wardrobe, and he didn’t really want to send Cas downstairs to sleep on his sofa or into his dad's room to use his bed (his old man probably wouldn't be using it). He’d said that he didn’t feel boredom the same way that Dean did, but, still, he’d feel bad leaving him for hours on his own. He sighed as he realised what he’d have to do.

Flipping back the covers on the other side of the bed, Dean gestured to the empty space. “Do you want to sleep here?”

Cas smiled, and before Dean could rethink the offer, he was sliding into the bed next to him, pulling the covers over himself. Wow, he’d accepted that offer quickly.

Dean looked away awkwardly – he hadn’t shared a bed with anyone for a while. Not since he’d last had a girlfriend, which was about a month or so back, and that had only been occasionally. It was foreign to feel the warmth of a body next to him and the dip of the mattress, yet not entirely unpleasant. Besides, it would only be for a few nights – he could deal with it. The knowledge that he was only in his boxers and Cas was in a state of full dress was also strange, but it wasn’t like they were going to be touching or anything. His bed was plenty spacious for them both to have a bit of personal space.

“Can you grab the lights?” he asked, his gaze sliding back to Cas’ face, who had obviously been watching him the whole time, gauging his reaction. The ghost nodded once, his eyes not leaving Dean’s face, then slid out of the bed, hit the switch and plunged the room into complete darkness.

The bed dipped again as Cas got back in, and Dean yawned. “Thanks, Cas,” he murmured, suddenly overcome with tiredness, and rolled over so that his back was facing the ghost.

“You’re welcome, Dean,” was the soft reply, but Dean was already slipping into sleep, unable to feel the ghost’s blue gaze burning into the back of his head as he watched over him for hours until Cas himself slipped into a light, restless slumber.


	8. Thursday: 2 days left

When Dean awoke, he rolled over to see that Cas was already awake and sitting up with his back against the headboard. He was watching Dean with a strange expression on his face, and looked like he’d been watching him for a while, though he quickly looked away when Dean met his gaze. Dean groaned and rolled back over, pressing his face into his pillow.

“Do I have to wake up every day to see you watching me creepily?” he mumbled into his pillow.

Instead of taking offence like Dean though he would, Cas let out a small bark of laughter. “It would seem that way.”

“Did you sleep?"

There was a pause, and Dean pretty much knew that Cas was shrugging, even though all he could see at that moment was the navy blue of his pillow. “Not really. I managed to drift off a little, but it was restless and rather uncomfortable. Still, it passed the time."

Dean rolled back over and smiled up at Cas, who returned it, but the smile quickly slipped off Dean’s face when he realised something, and he sat up abruptly. “Oh shit,” he whispered, rubbing his hands over his face, a guilty expression quickly forming on his face.

Cas frowned, looking at Dean with concern. “What is it?”

“We spent all fucking afternoon playing Monopoly and not figuring out how to stop that evil son of a bitch from committing a mass shooting, that’s what’s fucking up,” Dean responded, snappily, running a hand through his hair, feeling agitated. He needed a shower, but that wasn't his main concern right now.

“It’s okay, Dean.” Cas’ deep, low voice was soothing, though Dean would never admit it, and calmed him somewhat, though he still felt awful. “We’ve still got today and tomorrow, that’s plenty of time to figure something out. We’ll be fine, don’t worry.”

Dean looked up Cas with wide, worried eyes. “You sure?” he asked, quietly, his voice and expression resembling that of a small child. It wasn’t often that he looked to others for reassurance, but it wasn’t often that you were tasked with the job of saving twenty peoples’ lives.

Cas reached over and squeezed his bare shoulder, not seeming to mind taking on the role of the reassurer that Dean needed, a small, sympathetic smile on his face. “I’m sure of it. Go freshen up and get changed, then we’ll sort out what we’re going to do, okay?”

“Okay.”

* * *

An hour later found the two of them sitting on Dean’s bed, one boy at each end, facing each other with Dean’s legs stretched out in front of them both, Cas’ legs neatly crossed beneath him. Dean was freshly showered and changed, Cas was the same as he had been for the past two days. Dean had offered him the shower, but Cas had declined on the basis that his own hygiene levels didn’t deteriorate in the same way that Dean’s did. Dean had protested that his hygiene levels didn’t actually deteriorate at all, and that he only showered because it was what was socially accepted and that he was actually one of the most hygienic people Cas could ever hope to meet. Cas had then gently pointed out that Dean had only had to move his head in the general direction of his armpit this morning to smell it and complain to Cas about it, which had earned him a hearty shove.

Sam had been leaving with Jess for the day as Dean had gone downstairs to find something to eat, something that Dean was immensely glad of since he kept forgetting to keep his voice down when he was talking to Cas, and he was sure that his brother was getting suspicious by now. He’d suggested to Cas that he could just show himself to Sam, and then they could enlist the kid’s help in their planning, pointing out that Sam was smart and mature beyond his years. However, they’d both quickly agreed that it wouldn't be sensible to enlighten him to the idea of ghosts, especially since he hadn’t had the proper initiation that Dean had received (even though Dean was sure that it had been of no use whatsoever). Also, the knowledge that his brother could die in two days was not a burden that Dean wanted Sam to have to carry.

Dean had offered Cas a change of clothes when he’d gone back upstairs to him as well, which Cas had declined this too, since his didn’t get dirty and he wasn’t even sure if he could wear clothing that was made on Earth anyway.

“Don’t you ever get bored of wearing the same thing?” Dean had asked as he’d pulled a red checked shirt out of his wardrobe to wear over his black V-neck t-shirt.

Cas had frowned slightly. “No, besides I don’t feel boredom in the same way th-“

“Yeah, yeah, I know.”

When they were finally settled and ready to research, a bowl of cereal by Dean’s thigh for breakfast, Dean realised that he didn’t have a clue where to start or what to search for. He told Cas this, and quickly discovered that the ghost was the same way. Well, wasn’t that great.

Dean threw his arms up in the frustration after cramming the last of the cereal into his mouth, almost sending the white, ceramic bowl and spoon flying across the room. “What are we supposed to do then?!”

Cas sighed. “I don’t know, Dean, it was your idea to research.”

“It was your idea to come up with a plan to stop Smith before Saturday, my plan didn’t require planning.”

“That’s because your plan was ill-thought out.”

“You wanna say that to my face, ghostie?”

“Can we not argue please, Dean?”

They had lapsed into silence after that, Dean moodily picking at the stitching on his pillow cases, moving his bowl onto his desk to get it out of the way. Then he had an idea.

“Hey, how do people usually stop these things?”

“I don’t know. Check on the internet.”

Dean did. After ten minutes, he shut the lid of his laptop in disgust, annoyed by the lack of results. Cas, who had been sitting silently whilst Dean searched, raised his eyebrows questioningly. “Well?”

“I looked at some that have been stopped in the middle or beginning of the attack-“ Cas opened his mouth to protest, but Dean raised his hands, continuing quickly. “-I know, I know you want to stop it before, but I don’t think that we can without any proof.” Cas closed his mouth again. “Anyway, as I was saying, anyone who I can find that’s stopped an attack has done it with a gun.”

“Do you own a gun?”

“Would I look this pissed off if I did?”

“No, I suppose not.”

There was silence for a moment, then Cas spoke again. “Dean, I don’t know if we can stop this, maybe we should just-“

“No.”

“But-“

“No, Castiel.”

Cas pressed his lips together tightly, his eyebrows furrowed. Dean exhaled slowly, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Is there really nothing we can take to the police?”

“Nothing. He keeps his record very clean, his weapons well hidden, his murders cleverly covered up. There is literally nothing we can get him for, he covers his tracks effortlessly. I doubt he’s even planned this Saturday, I think the urge to kill just comes and goes, but he can usually control it enough to think it out and divert suspicion away from himself. I think it will be strong enough for him this time to reveal himself and simply go for it, not thinking about the consequences for once. Strong enough for him to let go of all his stupid pretences. From what I know, he hasn't murdered now for... a few years. This is a longer gap of time than he usually leaves.”

“And you still won’t let me kill the bastard?”

“You can’t be arrested, Dean. You can’t throw your life away like that – no one will understand why you have done it, he’s too careful. Besides, I don’t agree with killing him.”  


“Even after he’s murdered innocent people before? Even though you know that he’s going to kill even more people?!”

“I wouldn’t wish death upon anyone, Dean.”

Dean's green eyes widened in surprise, his shock registering clearly on his face. Cas avoided his gaze. His blue eyes were focused determinedly on something out of the window that Dean couldn’t see. Was dying really that bad?

As if he’d heard Dean’s unspoken question, Cas spoke again, addressing the window. “It’s not bad in the afterlife. Different, definitely, but not entirely unpleasant. It’s just… life on Earth is too precious to waste. You should hold on to it whilst you still have the chance.”

Dean looked down at his hands in his lap. Neither of them spoke for a while, but Dean eventually did, his voice was hoarse. He posed the question that they were both still thinking. “What are we going to do, Cas?”

Cas turned and looked at him steadily; Dean couldn’t see it, but he could feel it. “You know what I want you to do.”

Dean nodded once, sighed heavily and drew his long legs up to hold his knees to his chest. He pressed his face hard into the blue denim covering his knees. “I can’t just leave them to die, Cas,” he said, quietly and shakily, his voice muffled. “You, of all people, should understand that.”

He was breaking down, he knew it. He’d been strong for so damn long. Kept it together whilst he discovered that what he thought he knew about dying was wrong, whilst he was told that he was going to be killed, whilst he was told that twenty people were going to die this weekend. Whilst he found out that he probably couldn’t do anything to save them. It was too fucking much.

He felt the bed dip as Cas moved, then he was next to Dean, wrapping an arm around Dean’s shoulder as Dean had done to him the previous day. “I do understand, Dean,” Cas spoke, his voice even gravellier than before, thick with emotion. “But I can’t let you die.”

Dean’s shoulders began to shake as the tears fell from his eyes. He’d tried to suppress the sobs, but they came up anyway, choking him until he finally let go. He cried silently into his knees as Cas shuffled in closer, wrapping both arms around him and holding him as Dean, for the first time in a very long time, broke down completely.

* * *

It was a while before Dean stopped crying, and a while after that before he moved, breaking Cas’ embrace. “Sorry,” he apologised, gruffly, not looking at the ghost, as he shuffled to the side, giving them both some space.

“Don’t apologise,” the other boy replied, his voice thick as well. Dean stole a glance upwards and saw, to his surprise, that Cas was wiping a tear off his own face with the back of his hand, turning away from Dean. It seemed that he wasn’t the only one that was trying to be strong. Again, Dean thought of how this was supposed to be subdued emotion - what the hell had he been like when he was alive? Maybe coming back to Earth had made him more human again, reawakened his emotions. Dean didn't really care, and he was quietly almost pleased that he wasn't the only one that was being affected so deeply by this all.

“You understand that I have to go on Saturday, don’t you?” Dean ventured, carefully and slowly, pawing at his face quickly with his red, plaid shirt sleeves, removing any stray tears from his lightly tanned cheeks.

Cas looked back at him, his face slightly pink in places that it hadn't been previosuly, but no less intense. He didn’t reply for a long time, just stared at him, sadness prominent in his features. Then he finally spoke, in a broken voice. “Yes, Dean. I do.”

* * *

The rest of the day was spent up in Dean’s room, even though they were free to go into the living room since no-one else was in. They spent a little while discussing what Dean could do on Saturday, but came to no conclusions. They couldn’t use a gun, since Dean didn’t have one and was too young to buy one. They couldn’t take a knife really, because then he could be charged with manslaughter, if he got carried away, and with carrying a knife, and he didn’t want anything on his records. He’d already been had up by the police when he was younger for stealing from a corner shop with a group of his friends (it had only been a couple of chocolate bars, for a dare); it hadn’t led to anything serious, but he wasn’t keen to have anything else on there. They eventually came to the conclusion that Dean would just have to try and tackle the man, the very moment before he began to shoot, and alert security to arrest him as soon as possible without Dean being killed. It was a risk-filled, stupid plan (Cas hadn't even bothered to point it out, they both knew it), but it was all they had. And Dean couldn’t back down now.

Since Cas had agreed to let him go, even though it was practically suicidal, Dean let the ghost choose what they were going to do with the rest of the day. Cas had protested, pointing out that there was a high chance of him not making it to Saturday afternoon, but Dean had some things planned for the next day, so insisted that this day was Cas’, especially since Cas was going back to the afterlife after Saturday, whatever the outcome of the events. It was weird to think that Cas would be leaving him soon, and that he might be living out a normal life again in just three days’ time, but Dean tried not to dwell on it. He’d become very attached to the strange, intense, blue-eyed, monologue-loving ghost.

At Cas’ request, the two settled down to two comedies, where Dean had had a constant internal battle to keep his eyes set on the screen, and a long game of Monopoly, which Cas had, of course, won. Sam had come back late afternoon, and they’d had to play loud music after that, since Dean kept shouting at Cas for cheating, only half-joking, even though he obviously wasn’t cheating. Dean left occasionally to go to the toilet or to grab some food, and every time he came back, he’d find Cas’ eyes fixed on him the moment he walked in, like the ghost had been watching the doorway the entire time that that’d he’d been gone, waiting for him.

By eleven, Dean started to yawn, much to Cas’ dismay, and by half past he’d convinced Cas that it was time to go to bed. They’d settled under the covers and turned out the light, but Dean suddenly found that he was wide awake. Cas was closer than he had been the previous night, Dean would only have to reach his arm out slightly and he’d be touching him. The ghost had also taken off his jeans that night, claiming that he’d gotten too hot and uncomfortable the night before. Dean doubted that he could actually get uncomfortable, and that he was just doing to make Dean feel less awkward, since he was in his boxers again.

Just as he was considering moving away a little, to give them both some space, Cas spoke up in the darkness. “Are you awake, Dean?”

Dean glanced up to look at the ghost's face, though he couldn’t see it in the darkness. All he could see was the subtlest flash of his eyes and his teeth as his mouth moved. “Yeah, I’m awake.”

“I’m glad that I was assigned your mission, Dean.”

Dean blinked. “I know, you have all that ‘unfinished business’ or whatever. You told me.”

“Even if I didn’t have that, I’d still be glad to be here with you.”

Dean opened his mouth to respond, but found that he didn’t have the words to say, nor did he know what to make of Cas’ admission. What was Cas trying to tell him? There were many ways that his words could be taken. Was it that he valued Dean as a good friend and that he was glad that he’d met? Was it that his mission was interesting? Was it that he just really digged playing Monopoly and watching films? Or was it something more?

Just as he found his voice, Cas rolled over quickly so that his back was facing Dean, maybe offended by Dean’s lack of answer, maybe a little embarrassed. His voice was slightly abrupt. “Goodnight, Dean.”

Dean stared at the back of Cas’ dark haired head for a moment, or at least stared where he thought it would be in the darkness. Then he too rolled over. “I’m glad that you were assigned my mission too, Cas,” he whispered into the darkness, unsure of whether Cas could hear him or not. If he did hear, the ghost didn’t respond.


	9. Friday: 1 day left

When Dean’s eyes opened the next day, Cas was still sleeping next to him. They’d clearly both rolled over in the night to face each other and there was all but 15cm between their faces. Dean shuffled back slightly, carefully so as not to wake Cas. The ghost was frowning in his sleep, like it was unpleasant for him, his eyebrows drawn tightly together, his eyes moving behind his eyelids, his mouth slightly open and moving occasionally. Dean wanted to move and start to get ready – he had a lot that he wanted to do on his potentially final day on Earth – but he couldn’t bring himself to look away from the sleeping boy, even when he began to stir slightly. Cas’ eyes suddenly flew open, surprising Dean slightly, and the dark haired boy was instantly a state of complete awareness; did ghosts not feel grogginess? Cas grinned slightly as he caught Dean looking away from his face quickly.

“Do I have to wake up every day to see you watching me creepily?” he teased, sitting up and stretching.

“Shut up, ghostie,” was Dean’s slightly embarrassed response. The words of the previous night before they’d fallen asleep were not mentioned, and Dean still didn’t know if Cas had heard his final, whispered confession. Maybe it was better if he hadn’t. Cas would be leaving him soon, if he survived, so it was best if he didn’t get too attached, which was proving to be more and more difficult for him.

Cas laughed slightly, but didn’t say anything more.

* * *

Dean got ready quickly, practically running around the house as he tried to dress, eat, style his hair, brush his teeth and locate his boots in the shortest amount of time possible. Cas watched his hurried actions from his usual seat on the edge of the bed, with a slightly perplexed look on his face. Dean had refused to tell him what he had planned, though Cas had asked several times. He’d simply said that he wanted to make the most of his last day and that they were going out, so Cas should get ready quickly. Cas had patiently reminded him that he didn’t need to get ready, apart from putting his jeans on, but Dean had already left him to run into the bathroom and brush his teeth.

Eventually, Dean was pleased with how he looked and had run into his room to fetch Cas. Together, they had raced downstairs and grabbed Dean’s keys, laughing – it seemed that Dean’s excited state had rubbed off on Cas. After Dean had yelled a short goodbye to Sam, which was answered with a loud, groggy groan from his brother’s room, they left the house, piling into the Impala. Dean reversed quickly out of the driveway and began to drive, a smile on his face. Cas sat silently next to him, nodding along slightly to the classic rock blaring out of the speakers. He'd mentioned passively before that he hadn't listened to much of this genre of music in his lifetime, and was no regretful that he hadn't, making Dean beam widely. It was a while before either of them spoke.

“Are you going to tell me where we’re going?” Cas asked, watching Dean. Dean’s gaze was fixed on the road, so he didn’t notice the look.

“Nope.”

“Why not?”

“You’ll find out soon enough.”

They made a quick stop at the quiet supermarket in the outskirts of town. Dean grabbed a trolley and made his way through the aisles with deadly precision. He firstly picked out a beautiful bouquet of pure white lilies, which Cas complimented, though he wasn't aware of their purpose, then he proceeded to the junk food aisles, stocking up on his favourite crisps, drinks, snacks, and several pies. Anything that he’d had in the past and vaguely liked went straight into the trolley.

“These foods are all very unhealthy, Dean,” Cas observed, picking the bumper pack of double stuff Oreos that Dean had chucked into the trolley without a second glance and frowning at the nutritional values.

“Castiel, I’m probably going to die tomorrow. Do I look like I give a fuck?” Dean retorted, loudly, picking up two more sharing packets of crisps and throwing them into the trolley carelessly as well.

It seemed that he had been a little too loud, for the woman at the other end of the aisle paused in her shopping to give him a slightly frightened look. Oh yeah, he probably shouldn’t be swearing that loudly at his invisible friend in public. Whatever. Dean grinned and waved at her, then scarpered pretty quickly, Cas laughing as he ran after him.

When they’d finally paid and packed all of the crap into the boot of his Impala, Dean slid back into the driving seat, Cas flopping into the passenger seat next to him, holding the lilies at Dean’s request. He hadn’t wanted them to be crushed or damaged.

“May I ask who the lilies are for?” Cas asked, looking down at the flowers in his hands, his head tilted slightly to the right as he contemplated their purpose.

“Jesus, patience, angel boy,” Dean grinned, loving keeping him in the dark since he was obviously so eager to know. “I told you before: you’ll find out soon enough.”

It took another twenty minutes for them to reach their destination, and Cas let out a small noise of understanding when they did. They’d reached the cemetery.

They exited the car more slowly this time, their childish giddiness gone, and Dean took the flowers from Cas. Dean led the way as they weaved around the gravestones, making their way to the one that he’d only visited once, yet he knew the path to it so well. He hadn’t been since the funeral, which had been thirteen years ago - he could just never bring himself to come. However, since it seemed that his own death may be soon, it seemed fitting that he visited her at least the once.

He finally stopped in front of the grave, Cas coming to a halt next to him. It was simple, small and stone, only engraved with her name, the dates of her birth and death and ‘in loving memory’ at the bottom. John had never gone for elaborate gravestones – he’d claimed them to be pointless. Why would you need a nice gravestone, he’d rhetorically asked Dean. You’re dead, you don’t care anymore. There were no flowers at the foot of the stone, no gifts, no candles. Nothing. Dean felt a twinge of guilt; how could he have been so selfish? He should have come years ago. Still, it was too late now for regrets, he’d just have to try his best to make it right.

Kneeling, Dean placed the lilies underneath her name, and put a hand on the stone, closing his eyes. Cas stood silently next to him, tactful enough not to intrude, his blue eyes fixed on Dean the entire time, watching over him, though Dean didn’t know it. Dean was grateful that he was there.

They stayed like that for ten minutes. Dean didn’t say anything, just being there was enough. He tried not to think either – thinking led to crying and he didn’t want to cry today. He wanted to enjoy his day, not spend it sobbing into Cas’ white, long-sleeved shirt again. Eventually, he stood up, wiped at his eyes, which were a little moist, and looked over at Cas. The ghost returned his gaze steadily and intensely, like he always did, but didn’t say anything. A minute later, and the two made their way silently out of the graveyard and back into the Impala, Cas leading the way this time.

As he went, Dean glanced back at the gravestone one last time, his footsteps faltering. Cas didn’t notice, he kept walking back to the car. Dean imagined his mother’s ghost standing next to the simple grave, smiling at him encouragingly, imagined it so strongly that he could almost believe that it was real. Her lips moved as she spoke, but the encouraging smile remained in her eyes, which were bright and alive and full of love. _Be strong, Dean._ Then the vision was gone.

Dean bit his lip, his eyes moistening again, then nodded firmly to the grave. He would be strong for her, if no one else. He then turned and followed after Cas again, not looking back.

* * *

“Where are we going now?” Cas asked, after a while of them just listening to the stereo, from next to Dean in the car as Dean pulled out of a junction. They hadn’t spoken since before reaching the cemetery, but Cas’ curiosity seemed to back with a vengeance. Dean was glad of the distraction: he’d needed to visit his mother at least once, but it had been tough on him, especially since his vision of her had seemed so real. He needed to be strong for her.

“Back to mine,” he replied, cheerfully.

“Oh. I thought we’d be going somewhere else. Why were you rushing around so much this morning?”

“Bloody hell, Cas, what did I tell you about being patient?”

They pulled into Dean’s driveway again some time later and Dean jumped out of the car, running round to the boot to unlock it and pull all the bags of junk food out. Cas followed him slowly, catching one of the carrier bags with a muffled "Oof!" when Dean chucked it at him.

“Hey, if you carry this, will people see it as a floating bag?”

“No, I imagine they’ll see you carrying it."

“Oh great, I’ll look super strong and sexy. Carry another one will you?”

Cas sighed at length, but accepted another carrier bag.

When Dean had grabbed the other two bags, he shut the boot of his car, gave her a fond pat, and began to stride purposefully away from the house and out onto the street, much to Cas’ surprise, who had to run to catch up, struggling slightly under the weight of the bags. Dean laughed at the sight, but didn’t say anything, even when Cas asked him again where they were going. Much to Cas’ annoyance, Dean refused to speak the entire way, as much as the ghost badgered him and complained about the weight of the bags that he was being ‘forced’ to carry.

They walked for ten minutes, making their way through Dean’s neighbourhood to the large park that was tucked in the middle. It was a nice place, not just the usual lonely swing set and rusty slide in the middle of a slab of faded tarmac. No, it was a proper park, with grassy open spaces, patches of woodland and a lake surrounded by reeds and willow trees. Dirt paths wounded through the area, perfect for jogging, if Dean was that sort of person, which he certainly wasn’t.

He’d found the park when he was nine: his dad was starting to drift away, coming home less and less, leaving him to make sure that Sam looked presentable, was doing his homework and was eating enough. He’d needed some time to himself, so he’d wandered around the neighbourhood for a bit, finally coming across the park. After that day, he’d returned as often as he could, sometimes every day for a few weeks or so, exploring more and more of it to find the best, most private place where he could be alone, listen to music and think things over. It was a place of escape and freedom for him. A place of comfort, and a place of hope.

Why had he come here today? It had offered so much peace of mind to him over the years that Dean had felt that he needed to come and say goodbye. Besides, he’d wanted to share it with Cas. He didn’t know quite why, but it was his favourite place, and he’d never told anyone about it. It felt right to share it with the ghost who had so quickly become his closest friend. Dean found himself realising that he hadn't missed a single one of his other friends since Castiel had arrived in his bedroom doorway. He hadn't laughed as much as he had with Castiel for years, hadn't felt as light and free and, well, _happy_ , despite the crushing knowledge that he could die tomorrow, in a very long time. It was weird and made absolutely no sense, but Dean was fairly sure that the past few days had been some of the most enjoyable of his life.

When they reached the entrance, a simple wooden arch with the paths all originating from it, leading away from them to different parts of the park, Cas raised his eyebrows in pleasant surprise, but said nothing. Maybe he hadn’t been expecting such a beautiful, clean, wild place in the built-up neighbourhood, Dean certainly hadn’t been when he’d found it, over eight years ago. Dean hadn’t been for a while, he’d been too busy with school and everything else, so he doubted that Cas had even seen the area when he’d been watching over him the couple of months before he’d revealed himself to Dean.

Wordlessly, Dean took the path that led to the lake, which was directly ahead of them. He led Cas along the wide, stony path, then veered off it to walk under the willow trees to find the place that he was looking for. He had a few favourite, secluded spots in the park that he’d discovered over the years, but this one was his best find. It was the first one that he’d come across, and he’d always gone back to it sooner or later, despite wanting to explore more and more of the beautiful park. He hadn’t visited for a while, so it took him a little while to find it, but he eventually did.

It was underneath a large, vibrantly green-leaved willow tree, very close to the lake’s edge. The willow’s trunk was bent down slightly towards the water and the branches were long and flowing, many of them trailing in the lake’s water, being moved subtly and gracefully by the lake’s mild currents. Behind the tree was a wall of tall pine trees, guarding the area from view, and the branches in the lake hid it from the front. It was well protected from prying eyes. It had taken Dean a long time to find the spot, all those years ago, but he was so damn glad that he had. There was plenty of space against the trunk for two to sit, yet he’d never shared it with anyone, not even Sammy.

He walked over to the trunk and deposited his bags before turning back to look at Cas. The ghost’s mouth was slightly open as his head moved from side to side, taking in the scenery around him. Dean bit his lip as he waited for those blue eyes to focus on him, which they eventually did, wonder filling them.

Dean smiled, almost shyly. When was he ever shy? “D’you like it?”

“Are you kidding?” Cas grinned back, happiness filling his voice. “It’s perfect.”

* * *

They sat against the trunk for a while, close enough for their arms to brush when one of them moved, just talking. They talked about themselves, the other asking interested questions, and Dean learnt about Cas’ life before it had been taken from him. He learnt about how he’d been obsessed with religious studies, though not strictly religious himself, and how he’d wanted to study it when he was older. He learnt about each of Cas’ brothers, his sister, Anna, and his parents. He learnt about Cas’ home, his friends, his teachers, his hobbies. His struggle with the acceptance that he was gay, which Cas told him shyly, and also which had caused a strange jolt in Dean’s stomach, which he tried to ignore. Anything that Cas would tell him, he lapped up eagerly, always having a question ready to ask him. Since when had he been so interested ins someone that wasn't himself or Sammy or some girl that he was trying to hook up with?

In response, Dean opened up himself. He told Cas about his school, his job, his small handful of friends, his previous girlfriends (though there wasn’t much to say about them), about how he loved to work on Baby. He told him about Sam and his dad and his favourite films and foods. He casually mentioned that he thought he might be bisexual, but Cas didn’t seem to respond, so he didn’t dwell much on the subject. He even ended up telling Cas about his mother’s death and its consequences, but, for once, it didn’t make him want to cry. Maybe it was from seeing her earlier – he finally felt like he was finally at peace with her memory, and could think on it fondly without wanting to fall to the ground and weep out his anger and sadness. Maybe it was because he was so damn happy. Sitting in his favourite place, casually talking to someone who he now definitely considered one of his closest friends, eating pie and some of the other crap that he extracted from the carrier bags that they’d brought; he didn’t think he’d rather be spending the afternoon anywhere else.

The next day and Cas’ death weren’t mentioned, but they were pretty much the only things that weren’t. Anything that could be talked about was brought up, discussed at length, and then dropped in favour of another subject.

Eventually, they ran out of things to say, and they sat in comfortable silence as Dean munched away at his food, Cas not complaining about the noise for once, as they gazed at their surroundings. Cas pointed out the plants around them, naming them and their properties (one of his hobbies that he’d told Dean about - Dean had, of course, laughed and told him that he was a huge nerd, but Cas hadn't seemed to mind), even finding the occasional insect to name and attempt to befriend, which made Dean laugh.

“Cas,” Dean finally ventured as Cas crawled away from him and the tree trunk to see if he could find any insects on the surface of the water to show Dean, brushing the hanging willow branches and reeds out of his way impatiently.

“Yeah,” Cas replied, distractedly, trailing his long fingers through the water, making a disappointed noise when he didn’t find anything of interest. Dean was very tempted to go up behind him and push him into the water, but he refrained from doing so. He had important stuff to tell him.

“Did you hear what I said last night?”

“When?” Cas was still very preoccupied in searching for whatever the hell he was looking for.

“When I said that I was glad that you were assigned to my mission too.”

Cas looked over his shoulder at him, his blue eyes wide, completely forgetting about his task of finding the insects, his fingers still half in the water, forgotten about. He didn’t reply for a while, he just stared at Dean. When he did speak, his voice was quiet. “No, I didn’t hear that.”

“Yeah, well,” Dean wrung his hands together awkwardly, looking down at them, refusing to meet Cas’ gaze, regretting having ever brought it up. “I, er, I thought you should know, so, yeah.”

“Why are you glad?” Cas’ voice was even quieter than before, and it made a tingle run down Dean’s spine, which he fought not to acknowledge.

“Well,” Dean began, still looking at his hands. He heard the grass rustle as Cas moved closer to him. “At, at first I wanted it to be my mother that came to me, you know, so that I could see her again. Then I realised that I probably wouldn’t be able to let her go back, it would hurt too much.” Dean paused to swallow, collecting his thoughts. He didn’t know how to say what he was thinking properly, heck, he didn’t even really know what he was thinking. It was all just a confusing rush of emotion and feelings. “So, so I was glad that it was someone other than her. But now, now I’m glad that it’s you, because I’ve had the chance to meet you and, and that’s, that’s really… awesome.” He finished lamely, cringing at himself. That wasn’t how he’d wanted to say it.

Apparently, Cas hadn’t minded, because there was another rustling of grass and Cas was throwing his arms around him, pulling him in close for a hug. Dean didn’t know how to respond for a moment, but he then lifted his arms and wrapped them around Cas, loosely for a moment, then he stopped trying to fight it and pulled the other boy in close to his chest, resting his chin on his shoulder and sighing at length. Cas was warm in his arms.

“Meeting you has been really awesome, too,” Cas said, a smile evident in his voice. They stayed in each other’s arms for a moment before breaking apart, laughing. Dean’s cheekbones were tinged pink with embarrassment but Cas just looked, well, happy. It warmed Dean’s heart.

They resumed their original positions with their backs to the trunk again. There was silence for a moment, then Cas spoke out, his voice soft. “Thank you for sharing this place with me, Dean. It’s truly beautiful.”

“You’re welcome, Cas.”

They shared a glance, then both looked away, watching as the sun began the set over the houses through the hanging branches of the willow tree, painting the sky with subtle, yet beautiful, tones of pink and red, the fading rays of light illuminating the clouds so that they appeared to be made of gold.

* * *

It was a little while longer before they left the park. Together, they gathered up the nearly empty carrier bags, with Cas marvelling over just how much Dean could eat, and headed back through the estates to Dean’s house. Dean had said a silent thank you to the tree whilst Cas had been preoccupied with something else, placing his hand on the rough bark and thanking it for its years of peace and privacy that it had given him. Was it stupid, thanking a tree for something? Dean didn’t know – maybe this whole looming death thing was making him go a bit insane – but it had felt important, so he had made sure to do it. He was feeling very uncharacteristically sentimental at the moment.

The sun had set by the time they reached Dean’s back door and he let them in. Sam was back from Jess’ and called a short hello to Dean, which he responded to with more emotion than usual, earning him a “What the hell was that, dude?” after a very pregnant and confused pause, which Dean ignored.

He and Cas trailed upstairs and sat on the edge of Dean’s bed. Cas was the second to sit down, and didn't leave very much space between them. Dean would normally make some quip about personal space, but he wasn't in the mood. The boy looked over at the ghost, who had already been watching him, but didn’t look away. Dean rubbed his hands over his face, then flopped back to lie on the bed, staring up at the ceiling, unable to accept that this could be his last night alive, and was almost certainly his last night with Cas around.

“What now?” he asked, his voice sounding a little lost in the darkening room. He lifted his head to look at Cas, who was still watching him, sympathy in his blue eyes.  


Cas bit his lip, ran a hand through his permanently mussed up, dark hair - how did he always manage to keep it like that? “I don’t know, Dean.”

“Is this the last night you’re going to be here?” Dean moved his gaze away from Cas and let his head fall against the bed again, not wanting to look at him.

“I don’t know yet; it might be, it might not be.”

Dean frowned at the ceiling light above him. “I’m going to miss you, Cas.”

“And I you, Dean.”

Nothing more was said about it after that. Dean stayed staring at the ceiling for a little longer, then declared that he was not going to waste his last night either alive or with Cas, and pulled out Monopoly, much to Cas’ delight. If anyone had told him that he had one night left on Earth before, he would have gone out and gotten laid, but, for the first time, Dean's mind was on other things. The past few days had really changed him, and he wasn't quite sure why.

Dean put on some music, making sure that his favourite songs were on the playlist, and they played for several hours and, for the first time, Dean actually won. This was only because Cas had subtly not played as well as usual, but Dean hadn’t seemed to notice. The ghost smiled fondly at him as he let out a muted whoop of triumph (Sam had already called up to tell him to shut the hell up talking to his imaginary friends, which had provoked a jokingly-angry response from Dean, making Cas laugh) and laughed happily. After they’d put it away, they got into bed, both of them just pulling off their jeans and turning out the light.

Dean’s chest immediately became tight, and his breathing was shallow, something that Cas noticed almost instantly. He propped himself up on his elbow immediately, reaching out for Dean in the darkness. “Are you okay, Dean?”

Dean sat up and coughed shakily. “No.”

“What’s wrong?”

Dean was silent for a moment. Then: “I’m so scared, Cas.” His voice was barely more than a whisper, broken and hoarse and rushed from the panic that was building up inside him, threatening to overwhelm him. What the hell was he thinking, going to the shopping centre tomorrow? He was going to end up dead, he knew it. He couldn’t save the people. He wasn’t good enough. He wasn’t a hero. He was an idiot, a dead idiot.

“Oh Dean.” Cas pulled him down next to him, forcing him to lie down again, wrapping his slender arms around him, pulling him in close. Normally, Dean would feel uncomfortable by the contact, but with Cas it was different. He felt safe in the ghost’s arms.

Neither of them said a word, for there was nothing really to say, and Dean’s panic slowly faded, his breathing returning to normal. However, Cas didn’t let go of him and Dean didn’t move away. Instead, he wrapped one of his own arms around the other boy, the other one going above both their heads to rest on the pillow, and they fell asleep that way, wrapped in each other’s arms like that was where they belonged. Together.


	10. Saturday: Doomsday, Part I

Cas and Dean were still locked in a tight embrace when morning rolled around. Dean was first to awake, and he did so quickly and suddenly, his eyes flying open. He glanced around his room to see that it was still dim and that the light of day hadn’t penetrated through the material of his curtains yet, meaning that it was very early. He tried to work out why he had woken up at such a God forsaken hour, then he remembered what day it was. Saturday. Doomsday. He’d been so caught up in remembering what day it was that he almost didn’t realise that he and Cas still had their arms around each other, but when he did, he didn’t move. He felt so warm and comfortable and at ease that he couldn’t bring himself to move away. He’d never felt this sated when sleeping with his arms around one of his former girlfriends. Dean shuffled more into the other boy’s arms, and Cas tightened his grip around him in his sleep, muttering something unintelligible. He looked more at ease in his slumber than the previous night, and Dean could have sworn he even saw him smile at one point. Dean lay wide awake, watching Cas’ face until the ghost blinked awake, which wasn’t for another hour or so, yet he hadn’t gotten bored once. He’d studied every inch of Castiel’s face, from the few random strands of dark hair that fell over his forehead to the pale pink of his lightly chapped lips to the seemingly permanent, yet endearing, frown lines on his forehead, whilst he slept, wanting to remember it for reasons that he wasn’t quite yet ready to acknowledge. Not wanting to make the mistake of the previous morning, Dean rolled slightly so that he was on his back when the other boy began to stir, not wanting to be caught staring again.

“Morning,” Cas mumbled, his hair adorably mussed up from sleeping.

Dean tilted his head to look at the other boy, who was suddenly so close that he almost went cross-eyed, making him chuckle. “Morning yourself.”

They untangled their limbs from one another and then climbed out of bed, both of them stretching and yawning. Dean didn’t really know what to make of their sleeping arrangement, but he found that he didn’t want to talk about it. He’d enjoyed it whilst it had lasted - he didn’t want to talk himself out of being close to the ghost.

Dean went about his morning routine at a normal pace that day, almost managing to convince himself that it was a normal day. He was ready by seven, leaving them three and a half hours before they needed to leave. Cas, as per usual, had waited on the edge of his bed whilst Dean had been readying himself, and Dean went to join him. Dean fidgeted where he sat, nerves for what was to come filling him with extra energy.

“What are we going to do until we go?” Dean asked, fingers drumming out a frantic pattern on his knee.

Cas didn’t look at him. His hair was still in the same state that it had been when he’d woken up, he hadn’t even attempted to tame it, and, for some reason, Dean found that he was glad. It looked better than it did usually, though it always looked effortlessly good. “I don’t know, Dean,” he said, eventually. “What do you want to do?”

Dean pondered for a long time, fingers still drumming, before finally deciding to show Cas the first few episodes of one of his favourite TV shows. It was weird to think that he might not be able to watch the new season that was being released in a month. Of course, that wouldn’t be the only thing that he’d be missing if he was dead, but it was the thing that stuck the most in his mind at that moment. He mentally frowned at himself for being so stupid, but couldn’t help it. His mind was working in strange ways that day.

By the time ten o’clock rolled around, Cas began to get fidgety as well, but Dean couldn’t work out why. He was the one that was either going to die or wasn’t, not Cas. He was already dead. The worst thing that could happen to him was that he’d fail his stupid mission thing, or whatever it was.

“Dean,” he said, slowly, his attention sliding from the laptop that was still showing the program to Dean’s face.

Dean paused the show, looking over at Cas with raised eyebrows. “Yeah?”

“I don’t think you should go today.”

Dean sighed and rolled his eyes – Cas was acting nervier than he was. “Cas, we’ve talked about this, you said I could go. I know, I know: it’s risky. I’m scared too, but I’ve got t-“

“You don’t have to go. Please don’t go.” Cas’ voice was pleading, his eyes locked with Dean’s with a desperate expression on his face.

Dean frowned, feeling more than a little confused. They’d been through all this, he didn’t understand why Cas was doing it to him again now. He wasn’t exactly helping him to keep his cool. “You know I do. Cas, I-“

“You can’t go, Dean!” Cas’ voice raised, and it sounded shaky and panicky. His face now held an expression of pure terror. “He’ll kill you! That’s what he does, he kills people! You can’t let him kill you too!”

Dean reached out to grab Cas’ upper arms, holding him still, his eyes searching the frantic boy's face. His voice was gruff when he spoke, his confusion spilling into it. “Cas, I don’t underst-“

Cas wouldn’t be calmed. He shook his head violently from side to side, his entire body now shaking. “No, Dean, no. He got me! He got me and I can’t let him get you too! I can’t! I won't let him take you too! I won't!”

Shock filled Dean’s face, and Cas seemed to realise what he’d said. His hands flew to his mouth, his blue eyes wide. He stopped shaking, but the panic was still there, just muted. “Dean…”

“Why didn’t you tell me, Cas?” Dean’s voice was a whisper, his green eyes still wide from the shock. Of course, he should have realised earlier; it all made sense now. The terror when they’d visited Smith’s house, the whole ‘unfinished business’ – Cas had probably wanted to come save him because he hadn’t been able to save himself. Why he hadn’t wanted Smith dead was even more of a mystery now, but it just proved what Dean had known all along: Cas was a good person, a good person down to the bones. Even in death. Better than Dean was anyway. Cas deserved to have been saved from dying at the hands of Gordon Smith, not him.

Cas looked away, his wide, blue gaze flitting around his room, the shaking contained to just his hands. It seemed that the acceptance that he’d have to explain himself to Dean had subdued the panic that he’d felt at Dean going. “I… I couldn’t. I couldn’t bring myself to tell you. I don’t… I don’t want…”

“Please, Cas. Please tell me,” Dean pleaded. He let go of Cas’ arms, his hands falling to his sides on the bed. His laptop had slid off his lap, and Dean reached over and shut the lid, forgetting all about the program.

The ghost took a deep, pointless breath, steeling himself. His eyes turned hard as he tried to distance himself from the memory, his voice monotonous as he recounted the story with indifference, like it had happened to someone else, a complete stranger. “I was out one day, it was my friend’s eighteenth birthday. We went to the bar, and we all looked eighteen anyway, so we all bought drinks. It was… it was fun, but we got a bit carried away. I decided that I needed to get home at about midnight, but no one else was ready to leave, so I stumbled out of the bar alone, ready to walk home. It wasn’t that far away anyway. I got about half way, walking into walls and lampposts and stumbling into the road, when someone came up and offered me a lift home in his car. I wasn’t thinking straight, I just wanted to get back. So I accepted his offer. It was only when he was guiding me through the front door that I realised it wasn’t my house.” Cas took another deep breath, his voice beginning to shake. “The things he did to me, Dean. I… I can’t tell you. I can’t even begin to describe what I felt. I cried, I screamed, I begged for mercy, but he just laughed in my face. In the end, I was glad that it was finally over. I was glad to die just to get away from him. And no one, _no one_ ever found me, once he was done. My family never knew what happened to me.” He looked up at Dean, tears shining in his eyes. “You can’t go, Dean, you can’t. He’s a monster, he’ll torture you and he'll kill you like he did me. I _won’t_ let that happen.”

A single tear ran down Dean’s face. He looked down at his hands to find that they were shaking like Cas’, if not harder. But he wasn’t afraid, he wasn’t panicked. No, he was angry, God he was angry. Liquid fire coursed through his veins, he could feel the emotions building up inside, making him feel like he was going to explode. Never before had he felt such hatred towards another person; never. He wanted to hurt Gordon Smith. He wanted to kill in the most brutal way he could imagine. He wanted to rip out his eyeballs and shove them down his throat. He wanted to cut off every one of his fingers and toes, as slowly and painfully as possible. He wanted to smash his head against the wall until he begged to be saved. He wanted to kill the bastard that had tortured Castiel until the innocent, kind, _good_ , blue-eyed boy had begged to die. He would kill the son of a bitch if it was the last thing he did.

Cas sensed the change in him. “Dean, you can’t go…”

Dean stood up quickly, looking down at Cas, his eyes wild and intense. “I’m going to kill him, Cas. I’m going to kill him for you.”

He turned on the spot, heading for the door, but suddenly Cas was in his way, blocking the doorway, his shoulders squared. Dean had almost forgotten that he could do that teleporting thing.

“Get out the way, Cas,” he all but growled. He was bigger than Cas, but only just. However, he was sure he could beat the other boy in a fight if it came to it.

Cas had stopped shaking completely now, his panic forgotten in his resolution to stop Dean from leaving. His eyes were almost as intense as Dean’s, his face set with absolute determination. If he wasn't so driven by anger and revenge, Dean would marvel at his ability to change emotion so quickly. “No.”

“I have to go.”

“No, you don’t.”

“I have to save those people, I have to make him pay for what he did to you.”

“Please don’t, Dean. What happened to me is in the past, hurting him won’t change anything.”

“You can’t stop me, Cas.”

“Watch me.” The words were harsh, resolute and confident. Later, Dean would look back on them, deeply touched by how, despite having to relive his traumatic death and the terrible, sickening events leading up to it through explaining them to Dean, Cas could push his emotions aside to try and protect him.

Dean felt his anger rising again, and he shoved Cas backwards, hard. The ghost’s back hit the wall of the hallway and Dean covered the ground towards him in one step, grabbing hold of the front of his shirt to keep him there. Cas’ facial expression remained determined, he just narrowed his eyes a little, as if he'd been expecting Dean to shove him.

“I’m going, Castiel,” Dean hissed at him, very close to his face. He could feel Cas’ breath against his face. The proximity of the other boy reminded him of the previous night, and how they’d slept in each other’s arms. He pushed the thought away; if Cas really cared for him, he’d let him do what he had to do.

“You’re a fool,” Cas hissed back, his anger and frustration evident in his voice. “You’re just going to get yourself killed!”

There was silence, the two of them staring each other down. Dean knew that he couldn’t get out with Cas’ teleporting thing – even if he tried to knock him out, he’d always have the advantage, would always be able to get away. He’d have to force the ghost to leave in some other way.

“You don’t have to come if you’re too scared, you know,” Dean said, his voice quiet. He knew what he had to do to get Cas to leave. It was low and it hurt him physically to do so, but he had no choice.

Cas’ face registered his shock, his blue eyes widening again. “What?”

“Too chicken to face up to him, are you? The man of your nightmares?” Dean was even closer now to Cas’ face, hating himself for every word that he spoke, trying hard to keep up the facade.

“Dean…”

“Just go, Cas. I don’t need you following me around all the time like some lost puppy, you’re slowing me up and just annoying me. Why don’t you shove off back to the afterlife or something?”

Cas’ eyes widened even further, colour rising in his cheeks. “Dean, you don’t mean that…”

“For God’s sake, Castiel, can you not take an effing hint?! I DON’T WANT YOU HERE ANYMORE!” Dean shouted, whilst his heart broke in his chest.

There was a long pause, then Cas pushed back on Dean, effectively forcing him off of him. He looked at Dean, not breaking the eye contact, the pain evident in his eyes, yet his face showing nothing but anger. Dean wanted to reach out to him, tell him that he didn’t mean it, that he just had to go, and he needed Cas to leave if he was going to stop Smith, but he knew that he couldn’t. Even if it meant that he never saw Cas again, he still had to keep it up. He owed it to the ghost, and to the people that were going die if he didn’t make it in time. He had to give up his closest friend.

“Goodbye, Dean Winchester.” The words were soft, clear, yet so full of pain that it tore Dean apart. When Dean next blinked, Cas was gone.

* * *

Dean wanted to lie down and cry or go and bang his head against a brick wall until he couldn't think anymore, but he didn’t have time for that. He couldn’t lose Cas in vain; he had to go soon, or it would all be for nothing.

The boy ran quickly down the stairs, trying to ignore the fact that he expected to hear Cas’ footsteps behind him, but couldn’t. He’d grown so used to having the ghost around him at all times over the past three days, it was like having a part of him missing.

Pushing the thoughts away, Dean walked into the kitchen just as Sam came through the back door, sweat staining his grey t shirt, his hair pushed back off his flushed, shiny face. Thank god he’d been out on a run – Dean hadn’t even thought about Sam hearing him when he’d been shouting at Cas. It would’ve been very hard to explain: thank God for health freaks.

Then he remembered that this might be the last time he saw his baby brother. As soon as Sam had pulled off his shoes, Dean strode forwards and wrapped his arms around the younger boy, not caring that he was damp in places and smelt bad. Sam let out a noise of surprise, not knowing how to respond.

When Dean pulled away, Sam shot him a look of concern. “Are you feeling alright, Dean?” he asked, his voice laced with worry with a hint of suspicion. Dean wasn’t usually so affectionate, he must think it was a prank or something.

Dean forced himself to act normally, not wanting to freak Sam out too much. “Yeah, I, I’m just going out so I, er, wanted to say goodbye.”

Sam’s voice showed his confusion. “Erm, okay…”

Dean took the boy by his shoulders, looking him dead in the eye, wanting to just get what he needed to say out. The kid was the same height as Dean now and was just beginning to show signs of overtaking him, something that made Dean proud, yet annoyed at the same time. Then he realised that he might not live to see his brother overtake him. “Look after yourself, kid, and Jess too. And… don’t grow too much, okay?”

Sam shook his head in amazement, his hazel eyes wide as he tried to come up with a response. “Um, yeah sure. If you say so, man.”

“I love you, moose. Don’t forget it.”

“You’ve got it. Erm, love you too, Dean.” Sam watched as his older brother pulled on his leather boots and grabbed his car keys, then something seemed to strike him. His voice was laced with even more worry when he spoke again. “Dean, you’re not going to do anything stupid, are you?”

Dean turned around, his hand still on the door handle, and flashed Sam a grin. “When do I ever do anything stupid?” Then he was out the door, leaving his younger brother alone in the house, a perplexed expression on his face, his trainers still in his hands.

* * *

As Dean strode over to the Impala, he saw, to his complete amazement, his dad’s truck pull into the driveway. Well that was rare, seeing his dad twice in one week. Sometimes he came in at night or when Dean was out, he was sure, but he pretty much only saw him once a week, if that. His dad sucked, majorly, but, Dean felt like this was his opportunity. The chances of them meeting were always slim, and, since it was now, as he was pretty much walking to his death, it seemed that the fates had decided that he was to make peace with his father. He’d gone to see his mother yesterday, made his peace with her, maybe now was his chance to confront his father.

“Hey, dad,” he called as John opened the door of the truck, climbing out leisurely. It appeared that he hadn’t seen Dean, for he jumped a little at his voice. Maybe it was the fact that his eldest son was actually talking to him – sometimes Dean didn’t even acknowledge his presence.

“Dean,” he nodded in his direction, then started towards the house. He brushed past his son, and, before he could change his mind, Dean’s hand shot out, grabbing his shoulder and spinning the older man around to face him. His father looked at him in surprise, Dean’s name already forming on his chapped lips.

“Dad,” Dean spoke, cutting him off before he could speak, his voice hard, his green eyes intense. He needed John to listen to him and understand him. If it was his time to die, he needed to know that he wasn’t leaving Sam without a family. “Let’s just put this out here, you’re a shit father. No, let me finish,” he said, insistently, as the dark haired man opened his mouth angrily to reply. He shut his mouth, his teeth clacking together hard, his face still showing his anger. Dean ploughed on regardless. He'd feared his dad for years, feared and respected him, despite all he'd done, but he let it all go now. He wouldn't bottle this up anymore. “As I was saying, you suck. Big time. I spent such a long time hating you, God I hated you so damn much. I hated you for leaving me on my own, to grow up on my own, but I hated you more for leaving Sammy without any parents. I still hate you, don’t get me wrong, but I need you to do something for me. If anything happens to me, ever, I need you to be here for Sam. You can’t leave him on his own again, you won’t have me to rely on anymore. Sam needs family, and I’ve tried my damn best, but it hasn’t been good enough. He needs you, dad, even though you’re a complete bastard.” Dean swallowed, before continuing. The pause was enough for John to butt in, but the man remained silent, actually listening to what Dean was saying for the first time in a long time. That, or he was stunned into silence. “So, yeah, don’t leave the kid alone. He deserves better than that.”

Deciding that he’d said all he needed to say, Dean nodded, pleased that he’d actually had the balls to tell him what he really thought, took his hand off his dad’s shoulder, and then turned away, heading towards his car again. It hadn’t exactly been making his peace, but he’d had to do it. For Sam.

“Dean.” His father’s voice was low and gruff. Dean looked over his shoulder at him, half-surprised that the man wasn’t running at him with a sledgehammer for what he’d said to him.

John was watching him steadily, his face devoid of emotion. Dean didn’t know what to expect. Then, “Stay safe, son.” Like Sam, it appeared that the old man had sensed something was going on. His father knew him better than he thought.

Dean nodded once, then turned and swiftly got into his beloved car. He didn’t even glance at his dad as he pulled out of the driveway and drove away.


	11. Saturday: Doomsday, Part II

As Dean drove, he felt a growing sense of dread in his stomach. This is it. He’s actually going to either face his death, or save the lives of many people as he can. How long ago did this all start? The boy thought back to the nap that he took on Monday afternoon, the first time that he saw Cas, the beginning of it all. Was it really only less than a week ago?

He thought about his life in general, and realised, for the first time, that it had little to no meaning. What had he actually done with his time on Earth? Sure, he’d helped Sam to grow up when he’d had no one else left, but that was it. All the meaningless time spent in school, partying with his mates, sleeping with random girls. It meant absolutely nothing. Cas had been right, life was too precious to waste, and he felt like that was all he’d done with his.

Sure, he’d enjoyed the ride. The fun times, the moments of laughter, the sex, the sense of achievement when he finished doing something on Baby, the pride when he’d received his first pay cheque, the taste of pie. The time that he’d spent under the willow tree in the park with Cas, getting to know him, and then the time spent wrapped up in Cas’ protective arms as they slept together. What would he think back to when he was dead? Did you think when you were dead? He didn’t know. Would he volunteer for missions as a ghost, like Cas had done? Would he see his mother in the afterlife? Would he be able to watch Sam grow up, get married, have kids? What would it be like?

He was scared, hell, he was terrified, of dying, but if it was must be done, it must be done. If he died today, it would be doing the right thing.

A sudden wave of calm flooded over him, soothing him for a moment, as he thought it over. His life wouldn’t be completely pointless. He would go down trying to save these innocent people, maybe he’d even be remembered for it. Sam’s kids would ask their dad about their Uncle Dean in the future, and Sam would be able to tell them that their uncle was a motherfucking hero. That felt good; that felt right. Maybe he was a good person after all, the sort of person that could live up to the destiny that Cas had been sent to save him for. Maybe he was a motherfucking hero. The idea brought a feeling of peace to Dean’s heart, and he suddenly felt less afraid. If he went down today, he would go down swinging. That was all he needed to do.

* * *

Dean pulled into a free parking space in the shopping centre car park (after searching for a long time, it was absolutely packed, much to his despair), swinging Baby round into it effortlessly. God, he was going to miss driving his car if he died. The clock read 10:45; plenty of time.

As he got out, Dean gave his Baby an affectionate pat, before swinging her door shut. He hoped that Sam wouldn’t douche her up for him. “Be good now, sweetheart,” he murmured under his breath, giving her one last fond stroke before striding away from her.

The kid in the car next to him gave him a very strange look through the window, but Dean just stuck his fingers up at him. There, suck on that, bitch.

As he made his way up to the coffee shop, pushing through frustratingly large crowds, Dean scanned the people around him, searching out those dark eyes and that mane of blond hair. Searching out the bastard that killed Cas. Dean couldn’t see him, but he knew that he would soon enough. Then, show time.

He reached the coffee shop ahead of time, then decided to do a quick circuit of the area, seeing if he could find Smith early and tail him, positioning himself to take the son of a bitch down at the optimum time. However, he was nowhere to be seen, but it was so busy that Dean was sure that he could easily have missed him. The sheer amount of people scared Dean – they had absolutely no idea that they could be dead in as little as ten minutes. Dean growled in frustration and checked his phone for the time: 10:55. Smith must be close by now.

Dean looked up and around him, then finally spotted the man across the way from him, just passing Dean’s favourite music shop. A shaky breath escaping him. Gordon Smith was wearing a large, brown overcoat with one hand inside, surely concealing his gun, and was making his way towards the coffee shop where Dean stood, a determined, yet manic look in his eyes. Shit, this was really it.

Dean began to shove through the crowds of people, his heart pounding in his chest, his adrenaline up. If he could get behind him just as he pulled out the gun, he could tackle him to the ground. Time was running out, Smith was getting closer. Dean pushed people out of the way more frantically, desperation spurring him on. He had to get there, he had to get there.

Just as he was a few metres away, Smith pulled out his gun, his overcoat falling to the ground, his finger already dancing on the trigger. A young, vibrantly red-haired girl in a blue coat (a similar colour to Cas’ eyes, Dean noted, unhelpfully) screamed, clutching harder onto her mother’s hand. The man opened his mouth and let out a loud cry, madness lighting his dark eyes, lifting the muzzle of the gun, ready to shoot.

“NO!” Dean screamed, and leapt at him, pushing the last few people aside.

Obviously unprepared for attack, Smith’s finger faltered and he turned to see Dean flying at him, shock flickering across his face. Dean barrelled into the man with as much force as he could muster, knocking them both to the ground. More screams came from around them, and then people began to panic, pushing each other out of the way in their hurry to escape.

Dean punched Smith square in the jaw, straddling him to keep him on the ground, anger, desperation and adrenaline fuelling his attack. The gun was still in Smith’s tight grip, but if Dean could keep him down long enough, he wouldn’t be able to shoot. Probably.

However, Smith was a lot taller, older and stronger than Dean. Despite the fact that Dean kept raining strong, precise punches on his face, the older man managed to shove him off, rolling them over so that he was now holding Dean down. Dean screamed and fought viciously, managing to get his hands free and grappling at the other man’s shoulders as he was punched, hard. Dean saw stars, but didn’t let up on his attack, managing to slap the man hard around the face. To his despair, people were still around them, the panic bottlenecking the escaltors and preventing them from escaping, the sounds of loud footsteps, many panicked cries and the rustling of clothing filling the air. If Smith knocked him out, so many would die. Where was the bloody security? They must know what was going on by now.

Dean pushed Smith off of him, panicking when he saw that he still had the gun, finger ready on the trigger, and crawled back over to the murderer, slowed up by the pain in his face and body, trying to start the attack again. Smith started to get up, but Dean whacked him hard behind the knees, causing him to fall again, and punched him hard in the stomach. Smith shoved him away, hard, causing him to slide away on the laminated floor, then got to his knees again, then to his feet, his frightening, dark eyes lit with the fire of anger and insanity. The gun in his hand was clearly forgotten for a second, and he ran over to where Dean lay, struggling to get up. He pulled back his foot and kicked Dean in the back, causing him to howl in pain. Then he kicked him again and again, the attack relentless, making it impossible for Dean to get up. Smith’s foot landed all over his damaged body, in the head, in the stomach, in the side, in the face. Dean writhed on the floor, terror filling him, desperately trying to get up. Blackness edged at his vision, pain took over his senses: he couldn’t black out, he couldn’t. He had to save the people. Had to save them…

Suddenly, the attack stopped. Trying to block out the pain racking his body, Dean quickly scrambled to his knees. One of his eyes was swelling shut, but he could see perfectly well out of the other. Through his good eye, he turned to see that Smith had his gun aimed at him, straight between the eyes. A wild laughter came from the man as he readied his finger on the trigger. More screams sounded around them from the people who still hadn’t managed to get away, but no one came to help him. He was on his own. This was it.

“Say goodbye, little hero,” Smith crooned, starting to squeeze the trigger.

Time slowed down. Dean wanted to close his eyes, but found that he couldn’t, all he could see was the muzzle of the gun that would soon end his life. His memories flashed before him in his mind’s eye, like a short film of his life playing inside his mind: his mother’s face as she put him to bed, telling him that angels were watching over him; Sammy learning to walk whilst Dean helped, an identical smile on both the brothers' faces; his father teaching him how to work on Baby, and then him inheriting the beautiful, black Impala; school classrooms, school projects, tests that he’d flunked and not cared about; parties with his friends; time spent alone in the park, with only the wind in the reeds and the sounds of classic rock to soothe him; passionate time spent tangled up in sheets with various girls; Cas. Cas came to him so vividly that he could’ve sworn that he saw the ghost of the boy flash in the edge of his real vision, running towards him, calling out his name. Then he realised that it wasn’t something conjured up by his dying brain; it really was Cas. He’d come back for him.

The dark haired boy let out a fearsome shriek and ran straight into Smith’s gun, knocking the muzzle away from Dean as the trigger was pulled. Smith let out a cry of surprise which was drowned out by the crack of the gun, confused by what had caused the invisible attack. Then, as Cas punched him straight between the eyes, he focused and let out a cry of surprise and terror. He could now see Cas; the ghost of the boy that he had tortured to death two years ago – Dean hoped that the shock would kill him.

Unfortunately, it didn’t. Smith fell to the ground at a second blow from Cas, letting out a whimper of fear. Cas stood over him, his deep blue eyes alight with a fire that Dean had never seen in him before, his feet spread apart and shoulders squared in an offensive stance. He looked strong and fierce, his features etched with a strange, wild beauty – he looked like an angel. However, to Dean’s surprise, he didn’t do anything. He just stood there, watching the man, daring him to try and get up. The man that had killed him was completely at his mercy, yet Cas did nothing. Tears of fear fell from Smith’s eyes and he shook pathetically, moaning under his breath, but he didn’t try to move, not even as security burst through the crowd, pointing their guns at him. The fear had immobilised him.

Cas stepped back and glanced over at Dean as security ran forwards, his gaze full of longing.

Dean, who had been frozen until now, tried to get to his feet, his head pounding, his boots slipping on the floor, his body screaming in agony. “Cas…” he whispered, hoarsely.

Cas exhaled deeply, a single tear falling from his eye and running down his cheek. Dean blinked his working eye, and the ghost was gone.


	12. Monday: Two days later

Dean lay on his back on his navy bedspread, alone, eyes closed. It was mid-morning, Monday, two days after his former death day. Sam and his father had already come in to check on him several times, but he’d sent them away. They didn’t understand, of course, but Dean couldn’t tell them. He couldn’t tell anyone.

After the events of Saturday, Dean was now regarded as a hero. Many eye witnesses recounted the amazing story of the seventeen year old boy who had bravely risked his own to life to save the innocent shoppers by tackling an armed man to the ground, alone, and holding him there until security came to take him away. Dean was sick of all the attention. When Cas had left, he’d refused all offers of medical attention – time would heal his aching body – and requested to go home. Countless journalists had called over the past few days, clamouring for his version of the events, but Dean hadn’t seen any of them. Sure, he was pleased that he’d managed to save the people’s lives, but that feeling was overcome with the grief that he felt for losing Cas. He hadn’t seen the ghost since he’d saved Dean’s life on Saturday; Dean hadn’t had chance to tell him that he was sorry.

After Saturday, John had been spending more time at home, which had been rather strange and foreign to begin with. Dean didn’t know if it was from his little departing speech on Saturday morning, or from the fact that his son was now a local hero, but whatever it was, he was glad. Sam now had the chance to see his father as much as any thirteen-year-old should. Sam, of course, had been pestering Dean for his story as well, but Dean had been too miserable to even tell his proud, excited baby brother.

He knew that he shouldn’t mourn the loss of what he'd never had, he hadn’t even been that close to Castiel. It was just… there was so much that he wanted to say, and he’d never be able to say it. Cas had probably already gone back to the afterlife, thinking that Dean hated him, which killed Dean inside. He didn’t hate Cas, he… well, he just wanted to see him again.

Dean rolled over onto his side and opened his eyes, staring blankly at the wall. In time, he would learn not to think about Cas. He would go out, he would accept the press, tell them his story, recount it to his friends and admirers whilst they bought him drinks in the bar, become happy from the small amount of fame that he would receive. Be pleased with himself for saving so many lives. Maybe he’d even meet a beautiful girl who’d been so wowed by his unbelievable heroicness that she’d fall instantly in love with him and they’d live happily ever after with four kids and a dog. Maybe, but Dean wasn’t even sure if he wanted that anymore.

He just wanted Cas back; it was all he could think about. But he doubted he'd ever see those bright blue eyes again.

Dean rolled over onto his other side, now facing the shut door. He physically jumped when he saw the dark haired boy leaning against it, arms folded across his chest, a frown on his face, blue eyes watching him carefully. How long had he been there?

Dean bit his lip, sitting up. Was this real? “Cas…?”

Cas showed no emotion. “Dean.”

A sound of pure happiness left Dean’s mouth as he realised that it was really him. He leapt out of bed, ignoring the aching pain in his body from the bruises and injuries that Smith had given him, hitting the ground running and leapt over to the other boy, wrapping his arms tightly around him, a wide smile on his face. He’d come back for him.

Cas didn’t return his hug, didn’t even uncross his arms, and after a few moments, Dean pulled away, taking a step backwards, his arms falling to his sides. He looked into Cas’ intense blue eyes – even after he’d hurt him, Cas had still saved his life, still come to him. “Cas, I… thank you. For saving my life.”

“It was my mission,” Cas replied, coldly, and Dean felt like he’d been slapped right across the face. He sighed; should he have expected anything else? No, Cas didn’t know that he’d been lying.

“Cas, I didn’t mean what I said on Saturday,” Dean said, his voice soft, refusing to break eye contact with the boy, even though he wanted to. He had to get Cas to believe him, he had to. “I only said it to get you to go so that I could save the people. I didn’t mean it, any of it. I would never think anything like that, I… I care about you far too much for that.” He swallowed, his face full of hope and sadness. “Please believe me.”

Cas sighed a little, his blank facial expression falling to create one of sadness. “Do you know how much you hurt me, Dean?” he asked, quietly. Dean didn’t respond, but he physically sagged, his shoulders slumping. Cas continued. “I’d opened up, told you the one thing that I hadn’t told anyone before, and you... You tore me up. The only friend that I’d had in years, and you broke my heart, Dean.”

“I didn’t mean it, you must know that I didn’t,” Dean responded, tears shimmering in his eyes. He’d hurt Cas, and it hurt him to know it, to acknowledge it.

“How can I know?”

“Because I… I…” Dean couldn’t say it, he tried, but he couldn’t. “Because you have to trust me. I’d never hurt you like that unless I had to, and I did. I had to say those horrible things, and I hate myself for it. I’ve spent days hating myself for every word that I said to you, but I wouldn’t take it back. If I was given the chance to replay Saturday and change my decision, I wouldn’t. I had to do the right thing, even though it meant losing my closest friend. I’m truly, truly sorry, Cas.”

Cas’ hands fell to his sides and he looked down at his feet. “Okay.”

“What?” Dean croaked.

“Okay. I believe you.”

Dean smiled again, wiping the tears from his eyes, making a small choking noise in his throat. Cas looked up at him again, his arms uncrossing and opening, offering him a small, shy hug. Dean walked into his welcoming arms, wrapping his own around the other boy. Cas’ clean, comforting scent surrounded him as he felt the ghost’s arms tighten around him, and he rested his head on Cas' shoulder. “I’m so sorry, Cas.”

“I know.”

* * *

It was quite some time before the two boys broke apart, and both had tears shining on their cheeks when they did, causing them to laugh a little. They then walked over to sit on the edge of Dean’s bed, facing each other with minimal space between them. Dean didn't mind.

“What now?” he asked, quietly. Now that Cas had forgiven him, he felt more at peace, but the knowledge that Cas would leave him soon weighed down on him like an anvil on his chest. There was still so much he wanted to say, even if he didn’t quite know how to say it.

“It’s not long before I have to return,” Cas replied, sadness filling his voice.

“What do I do now?” Dean asked, looking down at his lap, half-asking himself the question. What would he do without Cas around?

“I don’t understand, Dean. You’ll just go back to living a normal life. You’ll forget about all this and me and live happily ever after.” Like Dean had told himself he would when he'd first met Castiel. That was so far from what he wanted now.

“I don’t want to forget about you.” Dean looked up at Cas again. The ghost opened his mouth, then, not knowing how to respond, shut it again, not breaking the eye contact. There was silence for a few moments, then Dean spoke again. “What about the whole destiny thing? What do I have to do about that?”

Cas laughed a little and Dean frowned. “What’s so funny?”

“Dean, don’t you get it? You’ve already completed part of your destiny.”

“How?”

Cas rolled his eyes and shook his head, as if amazed by Dean’s stupidity. “Come on, Dean, look what you did on Saturday! You selflessly took on an armed, mentally unstable man and almost died to save the lives of twenty strangers. My coming here wasn’t just to save your life, it was to set your destiny into motion. I didn’t know this when I came down, but I know now. You were never destined to die at the shopping centre, not really. You were always going to be told of what would happen and you were always going to go in there and save those people. That was truly your destiny - my coming was a catalyst in its true beginning. You are already a hero, you were born one, and you’ll save many more lives in the future. You ought to be proud of yourself. I’m proud of you.”

Dean gazed at Cas as the boy spoke, his green eyes thoughtful. Yes, he’d saved many lives, and, for the first time, he felt truly happy about it. This was his destiny, to go out and risk himself to save others. Instead of filling him with fear, like the thought had previously, it filled him with anticipation. If this is what his life was to become, this feeling of pride and happiness from saving people, all the time, then he was ready for it. Like he’d realised before, the world could survive with one less mechanic, but it had gained one more man ready to give his life to save others. He would make his life mean something. Like Cas had siad, it was too precious to waste. “Thank you, Cas.”

“You’re welcome, Dean.” Then Cas froze, his body becoming ridged, his blue eyes shutting, like he was focusing hard on something.

Dean looked at him in concern. Just as he was about to speak Cas’ name, the ghost’s body relaxed again and he turned to look at him. Sadness radiated from him.

“It’s almost time that I left, Dean.”

“No,” Dean found himself whispering, but he covered it up with a quick cough. “Um, how much time do you have left?”

“As much as I need to say goodbye, as long as I make it quick. If I try to stay for too long, then I will be forcibly taken back.”

“I don’t want you to go,” Dean admitted, softly.

“I know, Dean, we’ve become good friends and-“

“No. It’s, it’s more than that,” Dean said, his voice a little stronger. This was it – he couldn’t let Cas go without telling him. This was his last chance, and he wasn’t going to screw it up.

“Dean? I’m afraid I don-“

“I love you,” Dean blurted out, unable to stop himself. There, it was out now. No going back, and he found that he didn’t want to.

He stared into Cas’ wide blue eyes, willing him to respond, and saw only shock. Dean’s gaze fell to his lap again, biting his lip. He’d been fighting it for days, but he didn’t want to anymore. He’d fallen in love with the ghost that had been sent to save his life, and he found that he didn’t even care that much if Cas didn’t feel the same way. He loved the intensity of his blue eyes, the way that his hair was permanently mussed up and the little frown lines on his forehead. He loved the tone of his voice, the way that he almost always won Monopoly and how he didn’t understand the plots of complex movies, even when they were explained to him. He loved his laugh, his smile, his humour, his kindness, his sarcasm, the way that he forgave you if you screwed up, the way that he had saved Dean’s life, even though Dean had hurt him so badly. Dean loved him, and there was absolutely nothing that he could do to stop it.

There was complete silence for several minutes. Dean’s eyes remained on his lap. He told himself over and over that it was okay that Cas didn’t feel the same way, that it didn’t matter because he would still love him, despite how hard he’d tried not to before.

“Do you remember on Wednesday morning when you were rummaging for something to eat for breakfast in the cupboards and I was telling you about how my emotions were different to yours?” Cas asked, finally, his low, gravelly voice breaking the silence.

Dean ran a hand through his hair, his head still bowed, upset that Cas had changed the subject. Maybe it was the ghost’s way of letting him down. God, it hurt. “Yeah,” he sighed, sadly.

“I told you that there was one emotion, one feeling, that wasn’t subdued through the transition between life and death, but I didn’t tell you what it was.”

Dean finally looked up and met Cas’ gaze, not knowing where he was going with what he was saying. The boy’s blue eyes were bright, and he looked like he was trying to conceal a smile. What was going on? “Well, what is it?”

“Love,” Cas’ eyes shone as he spoke. “Love is the only thing that isn’t muted through death. Love can be felt by all, alive and dead, with the same magnitude. It is so strong that it can pierce the veil between the two worlds. You don’t stop loving someone as much when they die, do you?” Dean shook his head, opening his mouth to speak, but Cas continued. “When I died, I died without falling in love. I spent a long time feeling sorrowful about the fact that I’d never fall for someone, and no one would ever fall for me, but I eventually gave it up and decided to try and do something else instead.

“When I came down on your mission, I didn’t expect to become to so attached to you. I watched you for the two months prior to my revealing myself, got to know you. I knew that you’d grow into the great destiny that you’d been given, and that you’d become a great man, but I didn’t know if we’d ever become friends. Then, I revealed myself, and I got to know you properly. I quickly began to like you and your ways, and I admired you for the person that you were. It wasn’t until Friday that I realised that I’d fallen in love with you.”

Dean caught his breath in his throat, his heart swelling in his chest as he realised what Cas was telling him, and Cas allowed the smile to form fully on his face, his happiness obvious. His next words were quiet and full of emotion. Full of _love_. “I love you, Dean Winchester.”

Dean didn’t know what to do – he hadn’t been expecting Cas to return his feelings – so he stopped thinking and just did what felt right. He took Cas’ face in his hands, closed his eyes and kissed him. His lips were soft, and when Cas began to kiss him back, joy trickled through every part of his body, making him feel like he was glowing. The sensation was unlike anything that he'd felt from any kiss he'd ever had before.

When he pulled away, Cas’ eyes were still closed and he made a small noise of protest, pulling Dean’s lips back onto his, much to Dean’s delight, and kissed him again.

They kissed and they kissed, Dean knowing that he’d never get enough. They kissed for hours, they kissed for years, they kissed until they were too out of breath to continue, then fell back onto the bed, wrapped in each other’s arms again. Cas's face was pressed into his short, dirty blonde hair, his own face was pressed into the ghost's chest, inhaling deeply from his white, cotton shirt, revelling in its scent and softness against his skin. It smelt clean and fresh, with faint undertones of cinnamon and sweetness. It was too good to be true, Dean was too happy for it to last.

“I have to go,” Cas mumbled into his hair and Dean felt a surge of terror race through him. No, they couldn’t take his Cas away from him. They belonged together, they loved each other, Cas couldn’t go.

“No,” he whispered, hoarsely, tightening his arms around the ghost. Deep down, he knew that he had to let him go, that he couldn’t stay with him, but he didn’t want to believe it. “You can’t leave me. I love you.”

“I love you too, Dean, but I can’t stay. You know I can’t.”

“I can’t lose you, Cas. I… I’ll… I’ll kill myself, then we can be together. I need you, Castiel.”

Cas let out a sigh and took Dean’s face in his hands. Dean closed his eyes, refusing to look at him in a childish way of avoiding the problem. Maybe, if he didn't look at him, he'd never leave. “Dean, you have to live and fulfil your destiny. You have to save people.”

“I can’t do it without you.”

“Yes, you can, Dean. You have to. Promise me that you will. Promise me that you’ll live and you’ll be happy and you’ll save people. Promise me.”

Dean frowned and shook his head firmly, still not opening his eyes. No, he wouldn’t. He didn’t want to be without Cas, he needed him. “No.”

“Dean, if you really love me, you’ll do this for me.”

Dean’s eyes opened and he stared into Cas’ big, blue ones. They were filled with tears. “Dean, I love you. Please do this for me.”

Tears spilled from Dean’s own eyes and his next words came out as a cry. “Don’t leave me, Cas!”

“Promise me, Dean. Promise me!”

Dean shut his eyes again, tears falling swiftly down his cheeks, his throat working as he fought to control his sobs. “I promise.”

“Thank you, Dean. Thank you." There was a pause, and Dean heard Cas draw in a shaky breath. "Remember, I love you. Don't forget about me.”

There was a short, soft pressure on Dean’s lips, the pressure of Cas’ lips against his own, where they belonged. Then he was gone. The warmth of arms around him, the softness of lips against his own, the steadiness of the body in Dean’s embrace, all gone in a fraction of a second. Castiel was gone.

Not opening his eyes, Dean turned his face into the duvet and wept, shoulders shaking, sobs racking his body. The heavens opened a moment later, and rain began to fall, hard and heavy against his window, almost drowning out the sounds of Dean’s heartbroken cries, as if the sky, too, were lamenting the lost love between Dean Winchester and Castiel Novak.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's the end! I hope you all liked the story! Please leave kudos and a comment if you enjoyed it.  
> I was considering writing an epilogue, but I don't know, so leave a comment if you'd like that.  
> Thank you for reading until the end :) x
> 
> UPDATE: I wrote an epilogue XD


	13. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had decided not to write an epilogue, but I got a request to do it and, to be honest, I missed writing about my babies, so here it is. I'm glad that I actually did it and I hope that y'all enjoy it.  
> Thanks again for taking the time to read my story x

_Hey Cas, it’s me, Dean._

_Oh God, I don’t know how to put this. I’ve never been good with words. Basically, I’ve missed you so much. How long did we know each other, a week? It’s stupid, I know, but I love you so damn much, Castiel, even after all this time. Damn it, it’s been well over thirty years since you left, and I still can’t move on from you. Not fully. Anyway, I can’t talk to you, however much I want to, so I decided a letter was the best way to get my thoughts down. Doesn’t matter if you can’t read it, it’ll make me feel better. I meant to start doing this a long time ago, keep you updated with what was happening to me (sort of), but I just couldn’t bring myself to, but now seems a good time to actually get my ass in gear and actually do it. So, here we go._

_Oh ghostie, where do I begin? I don’t know if you can see me in heaven, or wherever you are, but I’m gonna assume that you can’t. What have I done with my life? Well, you told me once that I was gonna save people’s lives, so that’s what I bloody well went and did. It took me a long to get myself together once you’d gone, but I eventually figured that you wouldn’t want me to mope around for the rest of my time, you made me promise that I wouldn't. So I didn’t. I became part of a mountain search and rescue team. Maybe not what you had in mind, but I’ve saved a lot of lives in my time, and I feel good about it, I really do. To see the relief in people’s eyes when they see the helicopter, their whispered thanks as we fly them to the hospital, the tears of joy in their families’ eyes when they’re reunited after thinking that they'd never see each other again. I wouldn’t rather have done anything else. I haven’t been able to stop any terrorists or serial killers since we stopped Smith together, but I always kept my eyes peeled when out and about, ready for them to strike. Maybe I should have become a policeman, but I don’t think it was my calling. I loved my job in the mountains, and I saved lives. What more do you want from me?_

_What else has happened? Sammy and Jess got married a long time ago; they were young, but it was right. They’re a great couple, and Jess still bakes me pies, which is awesome. Sam asked me to be his best man, you know? That was brilliant. Not long later, I became an uncle. Jess gave birth to their little Madison, but she was sick, really sick. She died before she reached a year old. I don’t know how the whole afterlife thing works, of course, but it made me feel better when she went to think about you looking after her, guiding her through your whole ‘transition between life and death’ thing that you were always rambling on about. I hope that she wasn’t too afraid, and I hope that she’s happy now. If you can see her or speak to her or anything, tell her that her mummy and daddy have always loved her and still think about her, and that her uncle Dean misses her terribly. Sam has Ruby and Kevin now, and they’re great kids. They’ve always been keen to hear about the adventures of their uncle Dean up in the mountains, even though they’re in their twenties now!_

_And me? I fell in love again. It took me a long, long time, but I eventually met the right person. His name’s Jack, and he looks a lot like you, even acts like you sometimes. I think that’s why I fell for him. I didn’t want to, I felt like I was betraying you, but I couldn’t live the rest of my life alone. I just couldn’t do it. And he’s a really great guy, we’ve got through a lot of shit together. I rescued him one day out on the mountains when he’d fallen off a cliff whilst hiking alone and broken his legs, and he’s always called me his guardian angel after that, which makes me laugh every time. I’ve told him about you a few times, but he just smiles and laughs it off, changing the subject quickly after. He doesn’t believe me, but it doesn’t matter. I get by knowing that we had our time together, and we had our love. That’s all that matters to me._

_Jack asked me to marry him a while back whilst we were on holiday on a road trip across America, and I said yes. We had a small, quiet service in a registry office, just us and family. Dad wouldn’t come, told me that he hadn’t raised a faggot. I told him that he hadn’t raised me anyway, and to stick his homophobic views up his round, hairy arse, along with a few other choice phrases. We don’t talk much anymore, but it doesn’t matter. He was never there when I was kid, and I didn’t need him then, so I definitely don’t need him now. Sammy still sees him occasionally, tells me that he hasn't kicked the bucket yet, that he's still living in our childhood home. I don't really care, to be honest._

_Jack and I adopted a couple of years after we got married. A little girl called Cassandra. Her name was so close to yours that I almost couldn’t do it, but we were smitten the moment we met her. She was five when she came to us, and she’s almost twenty now. She’s very beautiful and very head-strong, takes after her Daddy Dean. Jack sometimes calls her Cas, which makes me wince. I never called you Cassie, so that’s my nickname for her. Cassie and Cas - you’d love her if you met her._

_Jack and I adore her, and she loves us back as if we'd birthed her, but, I have to admit, Jack has been very over-protective in many ways, I haven't exactly been Mr. Perfect the whole time. No matter, we get through the arguments and keep going. My little family. I always wanted a family with you, Cas, I still do. My family isn’t a substitute for that, but I sometimes think about what our life would’ve been like if you’d have been allowed to stay. I would’ve loved to have married you. I’d better not let Jack see this, he gets a bit odd whenever I mention you. I don’t blame him, I don’t like his list of ex-boyfriends._

_So, Cas, that’s it, really. My life after loving you. I still love you, though, as you've probably guessed from the amount of times I've written it. And that’s my problem. I fell in love with you when I was seventeen, only knew you for a week, and then had to let you go. I’m now going on fifty now, with a husband and a family, and I still can’t let you go. A long time ago, you made me promise that I’d live, that I’d be happy and that I’d save people. I’ve done all three. You also asked me not to forget you. I couldn’t have done that if I’d have tried._

_There was a long period where I considered killing myself to see you again, I missed you so much, but I stopped after a while. You wouldn’t have wanted that, you’d probably have refused to speak to me (if that's how this bloody afterlife thing goes)! Well, now it seems that we may be meeting again soon, my ghostly love. I’ve been diagnosed with cancer: serious, terminal cancer. I’ll spare you the details, but I don’t have long left. A month, perhaps. Jack, Cassie and Sam are in a terrible state, though they try not to let me see it too much, but I feel at peace. I kept my promises to you, I saved a shitload of people, I lived a good life. I even got this damn letter to you written, and that’s been bugging me for a very long time. I don’t care about living a long life, seeing my daughter get married, meeting my grandkids, growing old with my husband, retiring together and all that sappy bullshit. They’ll be fine without me. I don’t want to end up as an old, fumbly bugger who doesn’t know his own name and can’t go to the toilet by himself; I’d rather go out now, having made the most of my years and still in pretty good condition._

_I hope the afterlife is tolerable enough. I want to meet Madison again, and mum, and I want to watch over my family as they grow older without me. I want to meet you again. God, I want it so badly. I still love you, Castiel, so fucking much it hurts me whenever I think about it. I love Jack too, of course I do, but it’s different. Different yet the same. I can’t explain it, and I don’t want to. I love you both, and I love Cassie, and I love Sam and Jess and Ruby and Kevin. I love you all._

_So, that’s my life in a letter to my lost love. I suck at summaries, but I love you, I’m dying and I want to see you again so much that it pains my aged body to think about it._

_A long time ago, I called you an angel, and you told me that you weren’t one. Jack thinks that I’m his angel, but I don’t think I’m one either. Maybe we’re both wrong. Maybe you don’t have to be a ‘true’ angel to be an angel to someone. You’re my angel, Cas, you always were. I love you._

_I’ll see you soon,_

_Dean_


End file.
